


We are all fools in Love

by Madlyie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, I don't know when I started thinking this was a good idea, Just wait and see!, M/M, Romance, Set in London, We have Pride and Predjudice, and Emma, and I can't write tags, and an excessive use of Jane Austen quotes, basically a lot of love and misunderstanding, because London is great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 62,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love would be so easy without misunderstandings, denial and prejudices. But we are all fools when it comes to love.<br/>Socially engaged, proud fools. Stubborn fools with self-esteem issues. Stubborn fools without self-esteem issues. Fools who care too much about others and too less about themselves and fools with enough patience to wait for centuries. </p><p>Or the modern Jane Austen AU no one ever asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Combeferre

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so here's a new fic! With tons of Jane Austen references even though it's not necessary to know the books or movies. Everything that seems familiar is most likely not mine, credits to the wonderful Miss Austen and Victor Hugo. I mixed up my favourite books and well, let's see where this is going. English is not my first language, so sorry for mistakes. I just hope it isn't too bad. :) 
> 
> So enjoy Chapter No. 1 wherein Courfeyrac only wants the best for his friends and Combeferre isn't so sure if his methods are the best and sometimes just doesn't know what Courfeyrac is actually talking about. But who does?

 

 

***

 

“Don’t grin like that,” Combeferre said and Courfeyrac’s grin widened.

“Oh, I have every right to grin _exactly_ like that, my friend.”

They sat in the dime light of the bar where the music was not that loud even though the beat of the bassline made the liquids shiver in the glasses. On the dancefloor Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were tangled in a mess of arms, legs and mouths looking incredibly happy.

“You didn’t do so much,” he mumbled and took of his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose and put the glasses back on. 

Courfeyrac dramatically put a hand on his chest, “You offended me, Mister Combeferre! Thanks to my awesome matchmaking skills we now have the most adorable ménage-a-trois in the history of…,” he paused searching for a word with the right amount of significance and settle triumphantly on, “ _history_!”

Combeferre smiled but rolled his eyes, “Just because you helped Joly buying new pants-”

“Skinny pants!”

“- and almost broke Bossuet’s leg - ”

“Yes, _almost._ But that was all for the greater good, Ferre! And you can’t tell me it didn’t work out.”

“Well, it did. But not because of some master plan of yours. You can’t plan on people to fall in love.”

Courfeyrac still grinned, “Wow, so romantic today.”

Combeferre shrugged and took another sip of the wine that had probably a quarter of the alcohol concentration of Courfeyrac’s pink, bubbly something who ordered another one before he turned back to him with a glint in his eyes that didn’t promised anything good.

 

“So who’s next?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘next’?”

“Well, it is such a happiness when good people get together—and they always do, Ferre. Sometimes they just need a little help. Don’t you see what a beautiful thing I achieved?”

 

He simply raised an eyebrow in response.

 

“I need a new target!”

 

“No.”

“But I have to practise before I can take care of Enjolras. By the way, where is he?”

“I put sleeping pills in his coffee that might not be completely in the legal framework but at least he will sleep. For the next,” he stopped to look at his watch, “18 hours. For the record, I never said that. Change of topic. No practise in the world would help with Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac advanced his lower lip pouting but than something else seemed to come to his mind. “You’re right,” he breathed out, “The Joly, Bossuet and Chetta – Operation was already incredible, I don’t _need_ practise. I have the _gift_!”

His face was an open book, every emotion clearly visible, the expression of the grass green eyes turning from joy to thoughtfulness in a matter of seconds, “But when I found someone for Enjolras there’s no challenge anymore, that will by my final, flawless masterpiece, an ending that no one will ever forget, breathtaking, dramatic, happy! Like the Beauty and the Beast or…or…”

“Romeo and Juliet?” Combeferre supplied sweetly.

“Haha, very funny, but yes. Just without all the death,” he waved his hand nonchalantly, “It will be the final fanfare. So before I use my incredible talent for…for… Marius! Of course!”

He didn’t know if the appropriate reaction would be to cry or to laugh but he really felt like sighing, so he sighed loudly enough to be heard over the music.  
The other man chuckled in response. The sound was beautiful, clear and childlike. “Don’t bother pretending you’re thinking about how you keep up with me, that ship sailed a long time ago.”

He couldn’t help but smile, “I could never be sick of you.”

Courfeyrac grinned like a Cheshire cat in response.

 

“But I just don’t understand why you need to set everyone up.”

“But Ferre, my friend, you should know best. There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time. The more love there is in this world the better. Don’t you always say that?”

“That’s Jehan. Jehan always says that.”

“Whatever,” Courfeyrac nudged his shoulder, “It’s a great truth he says there. For instance we wouldn’t have met if I hadn’t set up Mr. Weston and Mademoiselle Tailleur."

Back in school their history teacher Mr. Weston and the new French teacher Mademoiselle Tailleur had fallen for each other after a series of events where they had to spend time together and Courfeyrac claimed to be totally responsible for. It turned out that a completely besotted history teacher was easily to distract and neglected his duties in favour of spending time with his wonderful new girlfriend. The grades of the class increased rapidly as well as the actual learing about history decreased. Courfeyrac had made it his purpose to show the quiet boy with the glasses who was sulking in the corner - Combeferre had really liked history okay? - that there were actually a lot more fun things to do in a lesson with a happy but constantly distracted teacher.

“Oh come on, that was a coincidence.”

“No, no,” Courfeyrac said firmly, “It was the beginning of an era.”

“An era?”

“Indeed.”

Combeferre sighed.

“With all the matchmaking, don’t you sometimes think of settling yourself?”

The other man laughed loudly and ran his hand through Combeferre’s sandy brown curls playfully. “Oh Ferre, honey, why would I? I am pretty. I am rich. I am pretty rich actually. No, I use my talent to help the people.”

“Enjolras would be proud of you,” he said sarcastically.

“You are no fun today Ferre, you are too tense. Loosen up a little bit!”

“Sorry,” he took of his glasses again and closed his eyes for a second, “I had some exhausting couple of days in the hospital.”

“No problem but this doesn’t help.” With a quick movement Courfeyrac fetched the glass of wine from his hand and drowned in one go before he could protest, “even though this is actually an excellent one, but nevermind. We’re no old man playing chess.”

“You’re wearing a bowtie and suspenders.”

“Says the man with a tartan pullover in a club.”

He snorted but couldn’t help smiling.

Courfeyrac never stopped grinning and called the bartender, a young woman with dark painted lips who seductively flopped her straightened hair over the shoulder, “Hey beauty, may we have another one of this for my friend here?” He raised his glass.

“I don’t think…,” Combeferre wanted to protest but the other man covered his mouth with one hand.

“Hush.”

He tried to say something but Courfeyrac didn’t let go until the barwoman put the glass in front of him.

“You play dirty,” he mumbled under his breath and then a polite, “Thank you,” to her.

“No problem, sweetheart. It’s on the house,” she winked and walked away to a crowd of giggling girls at the other end of the bar.

He sighed at Courfeyrac wiggling his eyebrows and eventually took a sip of the pink liquid that tickled on his tongue but wasn’t that bad actually. He told him so and earned a blinding grin in response.

“Great, so now to the plan.”

“Don’t think I’m going to help you.”

“Spoilsport. But I’m telling you anyways, you don’t get away with that.”

“Okay,” he said acknowledging the field with a smile.

“So Marius,” the dark haired man started enthusiastically, “he’s a great guy, really. I love Marius. Even though he’s straight. What a waste. Anyway, we have to analyze his weak and strong points.”  
Combeferre nodded and Courfeyrac continued pleased, “He’s really smart, faithful and I guess there are enough people with a good taste to find him handsome but god, the boy is so clumsy and dorky and…”

 

“You know I can hear you, right?” Marius mumbled, his head lying on the bar, his face somewhere between strains of reddish hair.

 

Courfeyrac patted his head. “Sure, honey and we will stop talking immediately - ” he looked at Combeferre meaningfully – “Change of subject!”

Combeferre rolled eyes and took absently another sip of his drink while Courfeyrac asked, “So Marius, fancy sharing what you’re going to do this weekend?”

The young man rose to his elbows and ran a hand through his hair that was already sticking into every direction. “Well, I have to go to that charity gala tomorrow evening because my grandpa is ill.”

“Doesn’t Enjolras is going to be there as well?” Courfeyrac asked turning to Combeferre.

He nodded, “He doesn’t really want to but he says that this time it’s at least for a good cause.”

“Still it won’t stop him from turning every conversation into a social justice rant,” Courfeyrac added most likely truthfully.

Marius frowned slightly confused. “Well, at least he has a topic.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared a look. “From politics, it was an easy step to silence,” Combeferre helped.

“But I don’t really know what to do on events like this, I’ve never done this before to be honest,” Marius continued nervously.

“And then you only have _Enjolras_ as role model, oh god, we can’t let that happen, can we?” Courfeyrac shook his head and the other man looked even more nervous.

Combeferre sighed. Then he started encouragingly, “Marius, I believe you will be great. You went to the best school in this country and you’re nice and polite, that’s all the people will care about. And yes, Enjolras might not be the one who enjoys festivities like that but he has good manners and he won’t leave you hanging.”

Marius smiled.

“I still think you should bring someone else as well,” Courfeyrac insisted, “Just in case. All good things come in threes.”

“Do you want to come?”

“God no, I hate such things,” he laughed, “Too fancy, too stilted. These people wouldn’t get the stick off their ass even if you tried to surgically remove it.”

“Thanks for the mental image, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said and the dark-haired man grinned in response. “You’re welcome, my friend.”

He turned to Marius in a quick movement and almost tumbled off his chair, “Ups, man, these things give a kick,” he drowned the rest of his drink, “Where was I? Yes, well I think you need someone who has been to that kind of events a lot, who can be charming and conversational, who can dance preferentially because that is always well received…,” he trailed off casually.

“And who can that be?” Marius asked thoughtfully.

Suddenly it dawned on Combeferre. He shot Courfeyrac a warning glance which he ignored.

“Well…”

“Courfeyrac, no,” he whispered firmly but got ignored again.

 

“What about Éponine?”

 

 Marius sat up straight. “Éponine?”

“I don’t think…”

“Of course Éponine!” Courfeyrac said cheerfully and kicked his spine, “She would be perfect. She’s used to the business because of her parents no matter if that ended well or not and she’s the best dancer I know. She makes everyone look great. Except for Enjolras. But only because he dances like a lobster.”

Marius seemed to think about it for a moment but then a smile spread over his face that made the freckles on his cheeks dance and he stood up. “Thank you Courf, that’s a wonderful idea. I will ask her immediately.”

He disappeared in the crowd to search for Éponine, their mutual friend, who had to be somewhere under the revellers.

“Courf, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Combeferre started but Courfeyrac put him off with a wave of his hand.  
“Come on, that’s a great idea.”

“But you know how she feels about him.”

It was painfully obvious that the young woman had a crush on Marius while he has been oblivious for as long as they’ve known each other. They had met when the business of Éponine’s family had gone bankrupt and she had to bite through on her own. He and Enjolras had helped her a lot and to all the gratefulness came a crush on the young man who had been so gentle.

“Yes, of course,” Courfeyrac said, “And that’s why I will set them up. It’s perfect.”

“Don’t you think that if they make a good couple they would have gotten together by now?”

“Every OTP has to go through some troubles, Ferre! There only has to be the right amount of ‘opposites attract’ and ‘birds of feather flock together’.” He nodded enthusiastically to support his words.

“Every what?”

Courfeyrac blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Ehm…”

“John and Sherlock?”

“What?”

“Castiel and Dean?”

“I don’t…”

“Merlin and Arthur?”

“What…”

“Kirk and Spock?”

“I missed the point when this conversation started to be about Star Trek.”

Courferyrac sighed loudly. “You have much too learn, young padawan.”

“That’s not…Nevermind.”

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was it, I hope you liked it? In the next chapter we'll get to Enjolras and Grantaire, promised. ;)  
> Say hi on [tumblr](http://sky-blue-thoughts.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Courfeyrac's plan doesn't work out and Grantaire learns that expensive champagne isn't the only good thing about fancy charity events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2. Enjoy <3

***

 

 

“Why did I agreed to this again? “

“Because you’re nice and didn’t want me to spend the entire evening alone with old, boring and wealthy people?” Cosette suggested and linked arms with Grantaire who just huffed, “And because of all the waiters with their extremely expensive champagne.”

This time he shrugged but a small smile curled up the corner of his mouth.

“And because you look really stunning in a suit,” she added with a wink as he rolled his eyes. 

“ _I_ am looking stunning? I look like some sweep next to you.”  
The faint blush that spread over her face was enough to make Grantaire smile. But Cosette do looked absolutely stunning in her knee-length dark blue dress that made her grey eyes shine and her blonde hair look golden.

 

They accompanied her father to one of those fancy charity events where rich people could dance and drink and talk to show everyone how rich they actually were. The few ones like Valjean who really wanted to help the poor and those in need drowned in the mass of wealthy wannabes and super rich snobs.

 

“Don’t be so humble,” the elderly man said and put a hand encouragingly on Grantaire’s shoulder. It did take some time to warm up to Cosette’s very protective and slightly scary father but once he had gotten to know him better it turned out the man wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“And you darling,” he addressed Cosette, “don’t be so prejudiced; Éponine is coming as well and other people of your youthful age.”

 

Then he got distracted by another man with white hair and a three-pieced suit and left his daughter and Grantaire on their own.

 

He turned to Cosette who seemed to weight if that was a good or a bad thing. He only knew the short version of the young woman’s past and that was more than anyone else who wasn’t part of it. She had been in the foster system and Éponine’s parents, Monsieur and Madame Thenardier whom everyone considered a nice and loving family, had exploited her as a maid, cleaner and more from the early age of four or five. Her mother had tried to get her back but she died. Valjean had promised her to take care of Cosette and took her away to start the new life she deserved. About two years ago the Thenardier-company had gone bankrupt after a series of scandals, involving bribery and more. Éponine, the oldest daughter, was now that her parents were in jail trying to make up for the crimes they committed not only concerning the business but Cosette as well. The two young women started to approach slowly even though Éponine still seemed to be nagged by guilt when Cosette had already forgiven her.

 

“Was that an invitation to grab young and rich people?” he grinned as he tried to distract her from worrying and she pocked his ribs. But she smiled mischievously as she answered, “I don’t think so. But that doesn’t mean we can’t.”

“Nah, I’m probably not a rich man’s type.”

A familiar voice cut in from behind them, “That’s your hipster vibe, R,” the waiter said grinning from cheek to cheek.

“Feuilly!” Grantaire had to grin as well at the sight of his fellow student, “What the heck are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? The question is what are _you_ doing here? I mean, a suit, man?”

“Well,” he started and bowed his head to Cosette, “I am here thanks to this lovely lady. May I introduce you to the one and only Mademoiselle Cosette Fauchelevant?”

 Feuilly balanced the tray on one hand and shook Cosette’s with the other. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Fauchelevant.”

“Oh, please just say Cosette,” she insisted with honest empathy, “Every friend of Taire’s is a friend of mine.”

“You got a good one there, R.”

They looked at each other trying to suppress a smirk but eventually Cosette burst into giggles.

“We’re not dating,” she said and he poked her cheek fondly as he explained, “I’m just doing a friend a favour so she won’t die of boredom on a Saturday evening.”

The other man laughed and that was the moment when the big entry doors opened and two young men and a woman came in.

The first was tall with reddish hair, freckles all over his face and seemed a little bit gawky, the smile on his lips looked like he was very nervous.

The young woman next to him had dark brown hair, even darker eyes and tanned skin; a well-tailored green dress brought out her slender waist but couldn’t hide her almost unhealthy thinness. The expression of her face was emotionless.

 

The other man looked very tense and very, _very_  beautiful.

 

He was the reason why everyone turned around and just stared.

He was one of those people who made a room light up with their charisma and beauty but he had never experienced anything comparable.

The man was looking like an angel, a god even, his blonde curls like a halo around his perfect face with high and sharp cheekbones, straight nose, full and red lips and eyes in a shining, clear blue that he could see through the entire hall. It was like someone had breathed life into a marble statue.

 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away when the arrivals walked through the crowd and asked curisously, “Who’s that?”

“Eponine,” Cosette answered  breathless what made him follow her gaze that wasn’t fixed on the woman but on the other man, “I don’t know the others.”

 

Suddenly the angel looked up and their eyes met. He returned the gaze firmly until the man looked away again, maybe after a second more than necesarry. 

 

“The fellow that looks like he’s about to trip over his own feet any second is the young Pontmercy."

“And the other one?” Grantaire asked because he would care about some Pontmercy-boy later when he was next to an angel that walked through the people with the grace of a ballet dancer.

“That,” Feuilly started painfully slow, “Is Mister Enjolras junior.”

“He looks miserable, the poor man” he said and Cosette nodded even though her eyes still flickered to the other man. The expression on his face was tense as if he wanted to be anywhere else but in this room.

“Miserable maybe but poor he certainly is not. Take Pontmercy’s capital three times and you have what his father earns in a year. He probably owns half of London’s bank department.”

“The miserable half?” Grantaire mocked because the man seemed as if he was about to scare the old man who started talking to him away just by the way he looked at him.

 

Feuilly laughed then excused himself because _he actually had a job to do_. “Enjoy your evening,” he said and then he was gone taking the tray of welcome alcohol with him.

“He’s really nice,” Cosette pointed out but she seemed a little bit distracted.

“Hm, hm. Yeah, you really seemed to care about that at the moment.”

His gaze fell back to the man without purpose already.

Cosette’s grip around his arm tightened, “Oh my god, R. Is he looking over to us?”

The man with the freckles whom Feuilly had called the young Pontmercy was clearly gawking in their direction or precisely spoken Cosette’s direction. He seemed to say something without taking his eyes off her looking absolutely delighted.

The woman next to him looked like someone had punched her in the face.

For a second her face fell and hurt flashed through her eyes before she composed herself almost immediately and replied, her expression emotionless again. She said something to the blonde man – Enjolras – who seemed glad to be able to leave the man that was still talking to him in excitement. He excused himself with a polite and gracious bow of his head that still didn’t seem submissive.

 

Then the three of them set in motion and headed – to Grantaire’s delight and worry– in their direction.

 

“Taire,” Cosette’s voice trembled, “they’re coming over, they…,” she stopped and looked at him obviously for encouragement even though he wasn't exactly . The only solution he could find right away was to grab two champagne flutes from the next passing silver tray and handed one to Cosette before he drowned his own in one go. She looked at him in confusion for a moment before she did the same.

Only seconds later Éponine appeared at her side, the two young men in tow.

When he was closer he looked even more beautiful.

Unusually dark and long lashes framed his sky-blue eyes that shone brilliant and hard like diamonds, perfectly shaped brown eyebrows under golden curls that fell on his forehead, a pattern of light freckles on his high, sharp cheekbones and Greek nose and Grantaire swallowed hoping that the three glasses of champagne he already had would do their work as soon as possible.

“Cosette,” the woman said in a deep voice and made Grantaire pull his gaze away form the impersonation of a Greek god to her as she hugged Cosette briefly.

“Éponine, it’s so nice to see you,” she replied with a bright and honest smile that made the freckle-boy look at her in awe.

She introduced Grantaire pointy as her _best friend_ and he shook Éponine’s hand firmly, her dark eyes were hard and her smile seemed forced but he was quite sure that it had nothing to do with him. She took a deep breath before she turned to introduce her attendants.

She pointed at the lanky young man who never looked away from Cosette.

“Well, this…,” she didn’t get any further because he interrupted her by spluttering out, “My name is Marius,” a little bit too loud and fast before he added more quiet and blushing furiously, “Pontmercy.”

“And mine’s Cosette.”

 

They looked at each other without caring about anyone else as she reached out her hand which he took carefully like a beautiful, delicate e flower.

 

Grantaire stood next to them awkwardly; Éponine stared at some point trying to keep the emotions out of her face.

Apollo – it flashed through Grantaire’s mind – muttered something under his breath that with a look at the couple that he couldn't quite understand and turned to offer his hand to Grantaire.

“Enjolras,” he simply said, his voice like music, his blue eyes staring right into his soul, the pale skin soft and smooth in his hand, his grip firm and too short.  
“Grantaire,” he said again and luckily he didn’t sound like Marius Pontmercy.

Enjolras smile was rehearsed polite. It didn’t reach his eyes but the corners of his full lops curled up creating the hint of dimples and Grantaire wanted to make him laugh properly, wanted to see him loose all this genteel composure he wore so well.

“Grantaire, I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said and in any other case Grantaire would have laughed his ass off over the stilted language but the way he said his name was enough to send a shiver down his spine and distract him. He just raised his eyebrows and maybe he couldn't quite suppress a smile that hopefully didn't look too mocking. 

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

Enjolras bowed his head again, perfect mannerism, perfect grace but know that he stood closer Grantaire noticed all the pride and arrogance in this one simple gesture.

 

Of course.

 

Handsome, ridiculously rich and most likely educated at some private boarding school for boys only on the countryside, it would have been predictable he was just some arrogant posh in a well-tailored Hugo Boss suit.

He felt like sighing.

 

It would have been too good to be true.

 

Suddenly Marius Pontmercy seemed to remember that there were other people in the world as well and he forced his gaze away from Cosette to introduce her to Enjolras and shake Grantaire’s hand.

“Enjolras and I went to school together in Winchester for two years and… and,” he still stuttered being obviously distracted by the light blush on Cosette’s cheeks and Éponine who hadn’t said anything in the last minutes took over and explained briefly, “And now they both came back to London to study.”

“To London?” Grantaire asked sceptically.

Enjolras eyes darted to him, “London, indeed. Why is that surprising?” He frowned, the blue of his eyes intense and he looked like on the edge to angry.

Grantaire _loved_ it.

He felt his lips curl up in a lopsided grin, Enjolras frown deepened. “Well, I was more expecting Cambridge or Oxford and not something as mundane as London.”

“ _Mundane_? What is that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled and Enjolras eyes were burning blue with anger.

Cosette pocked his rips with her elbow and a quick scolding look.

 

“Do you want to dance?” Marius Pontmercy almost shouted but this time he managed to say the sentence without a pause and Grantaire was almost impressed. It was actually really sweet how nervous he was and who needed context anyway?

Cosette obviously didn’t because a bright smile appeared on her face and she looked over to Grantaire. He nodded gently, saying ‘don’t worry about me’, so she took the offered hand and practically hovered to the dance floor in the middle of the hall.

 

He turned to Enjolras with a smile, “Do you dance, Mister Enjolras?”

“Not if I can help it.”

At least Grantaire maintained his friendly smile much better than him.  
Éponine chuckled, but the sound was a little bit too hollow. She had been following Cosette and Marius Pontmercy with her gaze before she turned to Grantaire, “Of course not since it’s such a charming amusement for young people. How _terrible_ a little bit of fun would be. Besides, he can’t.”

Enjolras’ nose wings trembled as if he was trying to suppress an angry snort. “Every savage can dance. I simply don’t enjoy it.”

Grantaire tried to ignore his shattering look, “So may I ask you, Miss Éponine?”

“Well, since Enjolras is too afraid that someone, especially me, reveals his poor talent on the dance floor” – the blonde man rolled his eyes – “you may.”

He grinned, “Everybody likes a good challenge,” he said with a wink to Enjolras and took her hand to lead the way. His last look back was returned with a stare similar to the one the old man had received early, probably a little bit more murderous.

They found their way through the people and joined the dancing couples to the music of a shiny black grand piano.

He tried to concentrate on Éponine but his gaze always flickered over to Enjolras who was standing at the sideline with an untouched glass of champagne in his hand, the light of the chandeliers making his hair glow like a golden halo.

 

“Don’t you worry, Mister Grantaire,” she said as she rested her hand on his shoulder, “I’m used to being the second choice”

 

Just for one second she looked at Marius Pontmercy and Cosette who were too distracted by each other to dance more than basic steps completely out of rhythm.

When she looked back at him their eyes met in a mute understanding and Grantaire suddenly felt a flash of sympathy for her. Maybe because he knew exactly how she felt. Maybe because they had more in common than he had expected.

 

“Someone who thinks of you as second choice doesn’t deserve you,” he said sincerely after a long time of silence and the hardness in her eyes that made her so much older than she was disappeared for a second.

“Thank you, Mister Grantaire,” she said and smiled.

He returned the smile.

  
“Call me R.”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. ;)


	3. Chapter 3: Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Enjolras is bored, not nice and ... speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, sorry for mistakes. I hope you enjoy it. <3

***

 

“And did you hear that Mr. Bucket has spent his summer in Southampton? He bought a boat and plans on taking off the next year to sail to some place in India.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, yes…”

After that Enjolras was polite enough to at least pretend to listen; the man, some old business partner of his father from probably a century ago whose name he had forgotten a second after he had told him, went on talking enthusiastically as if another old man quitting his job to sail who knows where would be the biggest scandal ever.

He really wanted to roll his eyes and say that he couldn’t care less but he suppressed the urge even though it was difficult.

He could hear the scolding voice of his father in his head, telling him how impolite he was acting but he had spent a lot of time on _seeming_ polite, nodding from time to time, smiling or frowning, acting like the good son at least in public.

 

 

On good days.

 

The day had started off as a good day even though he had woken up a little bit late, the reason why his hair was still sticking into every direction. He had felt well rested for once and he had even felt relaxed.

His gaze flickered to Éponine and the dark-haired man on the dance floor.

 

He had felt relaxed and good until _he_ had come along.

 

Enjolras had never met a more infuriating person in his entire life.

With his black hair and repartee the man reminded him of Courfeyrac, his curls and sarcasm of Combeferre. In general this would have been a good thing but he was too irritated to think about that too much because there was something in these eyes, green and blue like the sea, that he couldn’t quite place.

He had been looking at his friend too gently to mistake it for coldness; his smile had been too easy for disdain.

He didn’t know what he looked for but the fact that he couldn’t figure it out made him furious.

Enjolras was used to see through people, humans were easily to understand, who needed help but was too proud to ask, who just wanted attention, who didn’t meant what they said and who was honest and kind.

 If you knew how to read them, people were like open books in which you could write everything you want.

But this raven-haired man with his thin lips, pale skin and irritating eyes was a closed book, tightly closed, its pages screened from curious intruders, just a black cover mocking him with its lack of colour and information except for a single, simple title.

 

Grantaire.

 

Enjolras looked up and in the exact moment he met the other man’s gaze over the crowd of people he didn’t know and didn’t care about and immediately looked back down like a coward.

He cursed himself for overthinking too much. Cosette seemed to be nice and friendly even though he wasn’t as smitten as Marius but Grantaire was neither handsome nor agreeable, just impertinent and most likely drunk. He couldn’t understand why his thoughts were still lingering over him. 

 

“And now his wife wants the divorce,” the man next to him said and Enjolras didn’t even know if he was still talking about the same person as before and he couldn’t care less.

“How awful!” he said, faked condolence in his voice as he suddenly spotted Marius approaching them, “Sir, it was delightful to meet you again but I beg your pardon but I need to go now, my friend must be already looking for me.”

“Oh, oh, not a problem at all, young man. Send my regards to your father, would you?” his opponent answered a little bit startled by the sudden end of the chat.

“I will do so Sir,” he bowed his head politely, a short, swift movement that he had done more often than he could count and detested more than anything else about official events, “If you’ll excuse me.”

As soon as he turned away the smile fell from his face. He clenched his tense jaw and shook his head, shoving aside an upcoming headache.

  
Why did he agree to this again?

 

Oh yes, because his father had practically dragged him to with his sad and disappointed look, his sighs, slumped in his desk chair pinching the bridge of his nose.

He pushed the image out of his head forcefully.

 

Marius however grinned like a maniac.

He grabbed his arm and didn’t even notice that Enjolras tensed.

“Oh good Lord, this is the best day of my life,” he breathed out, “She is wonderful, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen!”

“Congratulation,” he deadpanned in response.

“Enjolras, you have to enjoy this evening. It is perfect!”

“You start to sound like Courfeyrac, Marius.”

“Oh, yes. Courfeyrac! I have to thank him! Without him Éponine wouldn’t have come with us and oh, this is fate. Enjolras, I found the love of my life!”

He started to think that maybe the conversation before had been more pleasant.

“Wonderful.”

“Come on Enjolras, don’t you know how it feels when your world is changed in just one burst of light? I beg there’s some lovely girl for you too,” he insisted enthusiastically obviously forgetting that he usually was kind of scared of Enjolras. He was too distracted by looking around still searching for Cosette as it seemed. As if the half an hour dancing wouldn’t be enough to survive five minutes without her.

After some moments he noticed Enjolras’ gaze that seemed to make him remember _why_ he usually was scared of him.

No offense, he liked Marius. The boy was smart and talented but in moments like this everyone could have expected a death glare.

“Or…or maybe, you know, a boy,” Marius stuttered his ears turning red, “I mean…ehm…Grantaire for example is nice, I talked to him… a little. Cosette says he’s great. And well…as far as I can say…I suppose he’s handsome?”

Enjolras snorted.

He was not unpleasant to look at per se with his black and wild hair and the blue of his eyes had a faint touch of green in it yet his nose was slightly crooked, his thin lips just ordinary, the bone structure of his face nothing special.

“He’s tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me. You had better return to your partner, for you are wasting your time with me.”

“Ehm…alright…”

He was interrupted by Éponine. “Don’t listen to him Marius, he’s a mood killer.”

Enjolras turned around just to see a mob of black curls disappearing in the crowd. He frowned but then he turned back.

“Okay, I mean I should really go back to Cosette, I don’t want her to wonder where I am,” Marius said shyly. Éponine sighed and handed him two glasses of champagne before he could go. He practically ran and she looked after him with a sad smile but when she directed her attention at Enjolras her eyes went hard.

“What?”

 

Instead of answering she punched his arm.

  
“Hey!” Some people turned around with irritated and disapproving looks and so he lowered his voice, “What was that for?”

“For being an asshole.”

An elderly lady in a turquoise costume gaped and Éponine pulled him away to the buffet where less people were standing.

“Come on Ponine, it’s not like he heard it.”

“Most likely he didn’t but still, you don’t even know him.”

“You don’t know him either.”

Her expression softened a little bit, “I might have only just met him but at the moment he’s much more agreeable than you.”

“I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

She sighed deeply and shook her head, “Of course,” she said but than a smile appeared on her face. She dropped the subject probably because she knew him better.  

“Come on, let’s use these old white men's money to at least get a decent meal out of it when we’re already at it,” and she pulled him to the buffet.

 

Twenty minutes later Enjolras missed the times when he was back in school and snuck out of the dormitory in the middle of the night with Combeferre and Courfeyrac to eat a simple burger at McDonalds. They had done it at least once a month until he had gotten expelled.

Well, the teacher had been a complete douche bag.

He had been send to Winchester to finish school and _learn some discipline_. The first worked out, the second didn’t and sooner or later his father had given up trying to change him. That didn’t stop him from being disappointed but at least he wasn’t angry. He would never call the relationship great but it wasn’t icy. He had come to realisation that he didn’t want to be his father but that his father wasn’t a bad man either.

 

“Stop making that face,” Éponine stopped his train of thoughts.

He frowned, “What face?”

“The face when you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I don’t feel sorry for myself.”

“Enjolras, I am just as good in reading people as you are.”

He sighed but had to admit she was right.

“Okay, I’ll stop thinking and _enjoy_ the evening,” he said trying to put as much sarcasm in it as possible but Éponine didn’t seem to be bothered.

“With a smile?”

“With a smile.”

“Promised?” she asked.

He sighed deeply. “Promised.”

“Great,” a grin spread over her face, then she raised her hand beckoning, “Hey Grantaire!”

He didn’t turn around and in retrospective that was just the right decision because so he had fake a smile convincingly enough for Éponine to just roll her eyes and not making another comment.

The other man had obviously decided to come to the buffet since Marius was dancing with Cosette again even though there was only another glass of champagne in his hand, casually held by long and slender fingers.

“I hope I’m not disturbing,” he said politely and Enjolras wanted to say _yes_ but Éponine shook her head. “Oh no, not at all. You shouldn’t stand around there on your own. Someone else could engage you in a conversation and that’s not a pleasant thing around here, trust me.”

“Thanks for saving me then,” he laughed and Enjolras felt the urge to roll his eyes.

“One does what one can,” she shrugged, “Right Enjolras?”

He casted her a look trying to put everything of _you’re going to regret that_ in it before he said, “Indeed. We’re sorry since Marius is occupying Cosette that much.”

Grantaire turned to him. “Not a problem. Cosette’s father just told me we’re about to leave soon anyways.”

“Even though they’re really cute, aren’t say? I bet he’s one of those guys sending flowers and writing bad poetry to scare a girl away,” he continued mockingly.

Enjolras frowned. “I thought poetry was the food of love?”

His mouth twitched. “Of a strong love maybe. But if it’s only a vague inclination I’m convinced a poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.”

Hell, he was _insufferable._

“So what would you recommend to encourage affection?” he asked sharply feeling anger again. It was happening too soon, this man made him furious with his mocking smile that only grew wider.

Éponine watched them mutely as if she wasn’t feeling well given the topic of conversation.  

Grantaire seemed to consider his answer. After a moment he settled simply on, “Dancing.”

The corner of his lips moved upwards just a little.

 

Enjolras however could feel his hardly contained smile fall.

 

Before he could answer Grantaire added, his eyes challenging and never leaving Enjolras’, “Even if one’s partner is only barely tolerable.”

 

There had been only a few moments in his life that had left Enjolras speechless. Actually he couldn’t remember  one moment but that was probably because he couldn’t think at all. He could just stare.

He stared and was so glad that his jaw didn't drop.

And the sneaky bastard just smiled before he turned to Éponine and said, “I’m afraid I must leave you now. It was so nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Éponine smiled back.

 

And then he _bowed his head_ before he turned around and Enjolras stared after him until he lost him in the crowd of people. 

 

 

  
***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to you all for reading, kudos and comments so far. You make my day <3


	4. Chapter 4: Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Courfeyrac is a genius (of course) because it's always a matter of perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating so late, the last four days I had trouble with my internet connection but here's the new chapter. I will try to update once a week from now on so we have something like a schedule.  
> Enjoy <3

***

 

Courfeyrac was and would always be an optimist.

 

Something didn’t work out as planned? No problem because there always was another perspective that could offer so many new and maybe even better possibilities.

And in the end they would all confirm a very valid point.

 

“I am a genius!”

Combeferre looked up from his book and over the rim of his glasses. “You are?”

“Hell yes.”

He sat down next to him and dropped his bag on the table burying books and papers and Combeferre’s hands under it. The other man sighed what only made Courfeyrac grin more because it meant that his friend had given up ignoring him.

Combeferre would always sigh, he would always roll his eyes but he always did it with this small smile on his lips and listened.

He freed his hands and pushed his half empty cup of coffee out of the danger zone.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Alright, so yesterday evening Éponine went with Marius and Enjolras to that fancy charity thing…”

“And?”

“And…,” he made a pause to show the revelation the right amount of respect, “Marius fell in love.”

 

The surprise on the other man’s face was enough to feel extraordinary triumphant.

 

“Well,” Combeferre took of his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose – a sign that he was contemplating – and put the glasses back on, “That’s surprising but I’m happy for Ponine.”

“That’s…,” this time the pause was more because he wasn’t quite sure how to continue, “not exactly what happened.”

“Courfeyrac,” his tone was warning, “ _What_ happened?”

“Nothing bad, I promise! Actually something even better happened than I planned originally.”

“And what would that be?” At least his voice had gone from warning to sceptical, he counted that as a win.

“Okay, so Marius saw this girl and Éponine happened to know her and introduced them.”

To be honest, it wasn’t quite what he had planned _but_ Éponine had come with them thanks to _his_ suggestion so he technically had had the right intuition and he _was_ a genius.

“So you’re plan didn’t work out.”

“Just because it got even better because if they had been meant to be it would probably have happened already and now Marius is in love – what was the actual aim – and Éponine finally has the possibility to move on, find someone who’s the love of her life and will stay with her until the end of time and…”

“So you admit I was right.” Combeferre’s smile made sure it wasn’t a question.

He still murmured, “Partly.”

He didn’t often admit that he had been wrong but at least it was Combeferre and that made it easier. Maybe because they’d known each other for so long that everything was just simple between them, maybe because they always directly said what they thought and Courfeyrac wouldn’t miss that in the world even if it meant to admit to be in the wrong from time to time.

“Did that made your day?” he teased and the other man laughed.

“Totally.”

“That’s no surprise to be honest. It would probably make everyone’s day if said day was a Sunday spend in the most beautiful café of London with doing nothing but work.” He nodded at the books and papers still buried by his bag.

“I am a med student. My leisure time is between zero and five minutes on a good day.”

“And someone says I’m always exaggerating.”

The other man laughed again and dropped the topic.

“Come on, I can see you’re dying to tell me more about Marius mystery girl.”

He grinned, “Combeferre, did I ever tell you what a great friend you are?”

“More than enough,” he said with a crooked smile that he hid behind his cup of coffee.

 

“So in the morning when I woke up Marius was already half out of the door because he has to visit his grandfather to tell him about the gala even though I think that’s going to be a problem because everything he could tell me about it, was that he met this _unearthly beautiful_ girl and _his world has been changed in just one burst of light_ when he saw her and how _grateful_ ,” he emphasized the word and the other man shook his head amused, “he was because Éponine knew her and without me she wouldn’t have come with them and they wouldn’t have been introduced. So you see, I really haven’t got that much out of his dreamy rhapsody. So would you mind if he’d be joining us when he’s free?”

Combeferre looked at his books, his almost empty cup of coffee, then back to Courfeyrac.

“You’ve already texted him, haven’t you?”

He grinned in response. “You know me far too well, my friend.”

“And you know me,” was the simple answer.

 

He held the other man’s gaze for some seconds but was the first one who looked away and stood up sighing.

 

Combeferre chuckled and he hit his shoulder, “Shut up, I’ll get you your damn coffee.”

 

About half an hour, one coffee, one tea and two blueberry muffins later the door of the café flung open and Marius came in with Éponine in tow.

He looked so happy that Courfeyrac had to smile. Any other time he would have been downcast after a visit at his grandfather but the way he smiled from cheek to cheek now was enough to make sure everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.

Marius was in love and Éponine had the chance to move one. The other plan would have been great as well but Combeferre was right, it probably just shouldn’t be and the way things worked out now was another possibility he could work with.

All a question of perspective.

 

And Courfeyrac was always looking for the best.

 

“Look at my young man, he’s growing up!”

Marius blushed and Combeferre rolled his eyes.

“Hey guys,” Éponine greeted and fell on a chair next to Combeferre.

“I meet Ponine on my way,” Marius explained and took the other free chair.

Combeferre seemed to be contemplating for a second before he asked interested and kind as always, “Marius, I’ve heard you met someone?” He glanced at Éponine but there was a crooked smile on the woman’s face that might not look absolutely happy but it could have been worse. 

Marius immediately lighted up even more. “Oh yes, I did. And she’s wonderful and so perfect and I'm boring you. Courfeyrac probably already told you everything and…,”

“Actually I didn’t,” he interrupted and said mockingly, “because you haven’t really told me a lot except for the fact she is _so perfect._ ”

“Oh…okay,” he stuttered but smiled, “So…her name is Cosette and she’s a music major and hair is like flowing gold and she’s just so…so…”

“Perfect?” Combeferre suggested helpfully and Marius nodded.

Courfeyrac couldn’t help but laugh and clapped the other man’s back, “Well done, young man, well done. So when will you see her again?”

“I don’t know actually…”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Just… we didn’t talk about that and oh my god, what if she doesn’t want to see me again?”

Éponine snorted and Courfeyrac wouldn’t even need that to be sure that this possibility was absolutely ridiculous.

 

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.”

 

“But I wouldn’t know what to do. Do I just ask her if she wants to go on a date or something, I mean we only talked like half an hour and you don’t… I guess…”

“Marius,” he interrupted the man as he caught Combeferre’s amused smile, “Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry at all… because you, young man, will always have me.”

He frowned and the freckles on his forehead twisted. Éponine snorted again, while Combeferre obviously had a hard time to contain his laughter.

“A little bit more enthusiasm, please!”

Infidels.

There were some mumbled ‘Sorry Courf’ but that wasn’t going to bring him down. A plan formed in his mind, a great plan, an awesome plan that could bring even more than just this one good thing.

 

“We are going to throw a party!”

 

Silence.

 

“Come on, guys, it’s the perfect idea. We can invite the lovely Cosette so she and Marius have a little bit more time to get to know each other without the pressure of a date, Enjolras still owes me one or two favours I can come up with, Jehan has a friend over he can bring so we all get to know new people and Ferre, you need some time off so you won’t turn into one of those caffeine addicted zombies that can’t even spell the word fun anymore.”

“The word fun has three letters, Courf.”

“Yes, that shows how bad it is going to be, my friend.”

Combeferre frowned but his mouth was quirked upwards just enough to know that he already had him in his pocket.

Silence again. He looked eagerly in the round. 

“Why the hell not,” Éponine eventually said.

“That’s not as much enthusiasm as I was expecting but it’s at least something,” he turned to Marius, “What do you think?”

“It’s kind of a good idea,” he stated carefully and that was everything he needed.

 

“We’re going to throw a party! Yes!”

It was going to be awesome.

 

“So now, young man, call the love of your life, would you?”

The smile on Marius face immediately fell. “Call her?”

“Yes, call her.”

“I… don’t have her number.”

Wait. _What?_

“You don’t have her number?”

 

Okay, that was a problem. A minor problem. They could solve this, it wasn’t a big deal, there would be a simple solution for this, they could…

 

Éponine sighed. “I have it.”

For a moment he could see the hurt flash over her expression but she composed herself only a second later and he felt a rush of fondness.

The girl was a fighter and in the end she would find someone who was going to love her back as much as she deserved and he wouldn’t rest until that happened. He caught Combeferre’s gaze and saw that he was thinking exactly the same thing. Well, probably not that he would help her find someone but that he wanted her to be happy just as much as he did.

There was nothing he would not do for those who were really his friends. Courfeyrac had no notion of loving people by halves, it wasn’t his nature.

 

Marius, as always, didn’t notice anything of this but the gratefulness in his expression was overwhelming. “Oh god, thank you Éps. Thank you so much.”

She sighed again and fished her phone out of the pocket of her old coat and held it up.

“One condition.”

“Oh…okay?”

“We invite Grantaire.”

 

Courfeyrac pricked up his ears as Marius smiled.  

Grantaire, well that sounded interesting.

 “Who’s Grantaire?” he asked casually.

“Cosette’s best friend,” Éponine explained and added, “He’s a good guy.”

Oh, that sounded not only interesting, that sounded _great._

“Great! The more the better! Marius, call her.”

The young man looked up from his phone where he just typed in the number.

“What, now?”

Okay, this was talking too long. He snatched the phone from his hand quickly and dialled just to throw it back at a helpless and utterly horrified Marius.

“What? No! What am I supposed to say? I mean what if… Oh hello.”

“That was mean,” Combeferre whispered but Courfeyrac only shrugged. He was just helping.

 

Marius listened attentively and suddenly blushed.

“Oh, ehm… here’s Marius. Marius Pontmercy from....,” he was interrupted and yep, this had definitely been a good idea because it was damn hilarious how his friend was searching for words and smiling at a phone as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Yes, exactly. I am calling because… ehm… a friend of mine is throwing a party on….”

“Friday!”

“Friday and maybe you want to come… I mean… I would like you to come…”

Éponine looked at him asking.

“You and Grantaire, of course.”

At the other end of the line something was said and Marius face lit up like a light bulb switched on.

“Oh, that’s wonderful…. Yes…. I can text you the address… Great! … Yes, see you on Friday!”

He hung up.

“She’s coming.”

Courfeyrac grinned.

 

Oh yes, he was a genius after all.

 

“Let’s throw a party then!”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, you are always welcome to say hi or bonjour or anything else on [tumblr](http://sky-blue-thoughts.tumblr.com/). :) Next chapter will be up on wednesday.


	5. Chapter 5: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein there are pancakes and a little bit of convincing has to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, here's the new chapter. Right now I am very busy with school (last year and stuff) and we'll see if I can finish the next chapter on time, but as always I will try as best as I can.  
> And I love pancakes in the morning?  
> Nevermind, enjoy the chapter.

***

 

“He said what?” Cosette asked shocked as they sat in the salon eating breakfast.

 

When they had left the gala late in the evening Valjean had insisted that Grantaire stayed in the guest room over night since he didn’t want him to drive through half of the city at 2 am. Even if he could have rejected the offer he probably wouldn’t have done it because of the simple fact that he had already been more than tipsy from all the champagne and utterly tired as well.

He had spent countless nights in the comfortable room in Valjean’s small Victorian villa where Cosette was still living together wit him even though she was already twenty-two now. Grantaire had moved out from his parents' house the second he finished school but that was probably based on the very different family situation.

His apartment was simple and cheap but not too bad even though that couldn’t be said about the neighbourhood. Still he needed only three minutes to the next underground station and the light was perfect in the morning when the sun shone into his living room slash hall slash kitchen.

But anyways he found himself more than often in Cosette’s guest room waking up to smell of tea and the young woman sitting on the edge of the bed. Once she had visited him during the final week to check that he got enough sleep and didn’t forget to eat over painting. Later he had realized some of his clothes were missing just to find them a few days later in the drawer of the small wardrobe in the small room under the window so he had something fresh to wear the next morning.

Now he was eating breakfast with her in a cosy green hoodie – he had about four of those and one missing wasn’t that much of a problem. It was half past ten in the morning since they both had slept in after the long night. Valjean had been in his study room since eight in the morning and sometimes they heard him whistling an unknown, spirited melody.

Grantaire ate a piece of pancake with sugar and lemon that practically melted in his mouth and shrugged. “He said that I am just tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him,” he repeated Enjolras’ words again even though it still felt like someone punched him. Not that he would have expected anything else from someone who looked like a perfect angel himself in the first place. He had figured out pretty quickly how proud and arrogant the man was and had seen the way he looked at him with disdain so he had expected something like this. Hearing it had still hurt, remembering _still_ hurt.

He hadn’t drunk enough alcohol to forget the happenings and conversations of the evening.

Cosette frowned, “That’s really not courteous.”

He laughed bleakly, “Yes, that’s truly not _courteous_ , milady.”

She snorted. “Well, I actually considered him to be quite a nice guy by everything Marius said about him, a bit stiff maybe and proud but kind.”

“Oh, I could easily forgive _his_ pride if he hadn’t mortified _mine_.”

“Maybe he deserves a second chance; I just can’t believe he’s a bad person.”

“Because you always see the best in people” he said and couldn’t help but smile, “and that’s why everyone loves you.”

“It’s not that Taire," she insisted, "It’s the thing that I can’t believe Marius or Éponine would be friends with him if he wasn’t.”

Her argument was valid, Marius Pontmercy and Éponine had seemed nice enough but he just shrugged again, “Maybe it’s better that way,”

“Why would you say that?” Her voice had gone gentle and Grantaire sighed before taking another big gulp of his tea.

“Because, god, I mean it's just... have you seen him?” he made a helpless gesture that was supposed to support the absurdity of the situation but ended up looking utterly helpless, “He’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen in my entire life. So just imagine what would happen if he was nice _as well._ ”

“Taire…,” Cosette’s expression was soft as she looked at him with a sad smile but he returned it anyway feeling grateful for the silent moral support.

He didn’t even know why he let all that get to him. He shouldn’t think about it so much. It wasn’t helping and it shouldn’t matter.

“It’s okay; I probably won’t see him again.”

“You don't know that for sure."

“Alright, I understand. I’ll be nice when we both come to Marius Pontmercy’s and your wedding, I promise.”

She blushed but couldn’t hide the grin on her face. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re blushing.”

She hid behind her hands and started to laugh. He had to smile then when she began to rave about Marius Pontmercy again, her soft grey eyes fixed on nothing in particular, just staring into the air, just as yesterday night when they’d gone home and her father hadn’t been listening.

“Taire, he is wonderful, don’t you think? He’s the kindest young man I have ever had the pleasure to meet in my entire life.”

“And he’s eye-candy as well, right?”

She laughed and hit his shoulder a little more than light so that he almost spilled hot tea over his hoodie. He just grinned teasingly as she rolled her eyes.

“Okay, yes, you’re right. He _is_ handsome. He is actually _really_ handsome. I mean, he’s so cute with all his freckles and the way he smiles is like he's a young boy, so innocent and pure and…”

She went on talking and Grantaire leaned back and listen with a smile because she was so obviously head over heels for Marius Pontmercy.

He might not know the boy but the way he had said goodbye to her made clear that he felt exactly the same, all the googly eyes and smiles were enough to mistake one’s life as part of a romantic comedy.

The perfect couple and the friends that hated each other.

It was such a cliché that he almost felt like laughing if it hadn’t been him in this situation.

Cosette sighed enchanted and stopped talking obviously done for now with describing all the delightful character trades and feature of the young Marius Pontmercy and staring into nothing again.

 

“Are you going to see him again soon?” he asked and she snapped out of her thoughts as if she had forgotten he was still there.

“I… I don’t know to be honest.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you have his number or something?”

“Well, he didn’t ask for it and I wasn’t sure if…”

“ _Not sure?_ Are you kidding me? The guy didn’t look at anyone else the whole evening.”

She smiled hopefully. “Really?”

“Really,” he repeated enthusiastically because how could she not have noticed that?

“I mean, I could always ask Éponine for his number but wouldn’t that come off a little stalker...ish?”

He laughed, “I don’t think that he would mind.”

She blushed a little bit but looked absolutely happy.

 

They ended their breakfast in comfortable silence that was broken just as Grantaire had finished a scone that tasted like heaven on earth. He stood up to bring his plate into the kitchen. He could at least help a little if he was already abusing Valjean’s and Cosette’s hospitability more than often.

When he came back and he just wanted to ask if Cosette was done as well but her phone rang with the piano tune he recognized from this one Pride and Prejudice movie they sometimes watched at movie night.

Valjean liked it.

 

She raised her finger asking him to wait.

“Hello,” she answered friendly and he smiled even though she seemed a little bit confused, “It’s so surprising to be called by an unknown number and nice when you get to hear a hello you don’t expect,” she smirked and Grantaire tried to hold back his laughter because it was obvious to whom she was talking and he could imagine the boy’s startled face on the other end of the line.

“Yes, from the gala, I thought so.”

She listened to what Marius Pontmercy was saying and most likely stuttering but didn’t seem to mind as her smile grew even wider. She looked at Grantaire and he could see the pure happiness in her eyes.

“Of course. That is a lovely idea…Could you maybe text me the address or something, now that you have my number?” She bit down her lower lip and Grantaire only saw one part of the party but it was so sickeningly cute that he wasn’t sure if he could survive the other part too. “Thank you. So until Friday then…I couldn’t agree more…Bye.”

 

She hung up.

 

“So…,” he prompted.

“I’m going to see him again, I guess,” she tried to say casually but her smile was beaming. He couldn’t help but smile as well.

“I figured that much,” he paused and sighed dramatically, “So I probably have to stick to my word concerning the wedding.”

“Well… that might be a little too late...”

“What?”

She hesitated a moment looking at him with big grey eyes, “He invited me to a party of a friend on Friday.”  
“I hope you’re not implying what I think you’re implying.”

“He invited both of us.”

“No.”

“But Grantaire!” She stood up and hugged him while he tried to whine out of the embrace but she was strong for a girl her size. Extraordinary strong.

“No!”

“But I can’t go there alone, that would be weird if he asked you to come as well and I don’t know anyone else…”

“Éponine will most likely be there too.”

“But I feel like I already owe her so much, I don’t want to make her feel used.”

“You…make _her_ feel used?”

“You know what I mean.”  
“Really? Not really,” he said honestly but Cosette didn’t seem to mind. She let go of him but kept her hands on his shoulders looking up at him through her long lashes, perfect puppy eyes.

“Please come with me?”

“You… don’t look at me like that!”

“Taire, please! You don’t even know if Enjolras is going to be there, he didn’t strike me as the party type and what if he just had a bad day yesterday, everyone is allowed to have bad days and second chances, and you liked Ponine, didn’t you? And I really, really want to see Marius again and don’t make a weird impression so _please_ come with me. And I really don’t want to beg any more, it is horrible.”

“But…”

“Please!”

“I…”

“Taire,” her voice changed from pleading to warning in the blink of an eye and a nicely asking Cosette was just as sweet and lovely as an angry Cosette was terrifying.

 

 “Okay, okay, I’ll come with you.”

The smile was back on her face within milliseconds.

“Great!” she patted his back and grinned.

He sighed heavily.  “But if there isn’t enough alcohol or someone has the idea to play a Britney Spears song I am out of it. And you owe me. Again. I won’t hold your wedding speech, are we clear?”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t be such a drama queen. It’s probably going to be fun. Rich kids college parties, doesn’t that sound promising?”

“Maybe,” he admitted.

“And I bet Marius friends are just as nice as he is.”

“Yeah and Enjolras is the paragon,” he said and laughed sarcastically.

“Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion.” 

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

 

“No,” she said and smiled, “you are.”

 

***


	6. Chapter 6: Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Courfeyrac risks his life and Enjolras can't help but admit a certain change of mind.

 

***

 

“Courfeyrac, what the hell did you do to my apartment?”

“ _Our_ apartment,” Combeferre corrected him but Enjolras couldn’t really take his friend seriously because he was wrapped up in the chains of fairy lights he was holding while Courfeyrac just grinned and continued draping them around the lamp. They stood in the middle of the living room that had been turned into a lounge slash dance club slash whatever and Enjolras really had no idea where that red couch came from.

“Is that glitter on my carpet?”

Combeferre tried to not to entangle himself but Courfeyrac casted him a destructive look when he moved so he stopped in his tracks and said calmly,” It’s _our_ carpet to be exact."

“But… there’s glitter on our carpet!”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac almost tripped over a chain of lights when he walked to the bookshelf with a chair from the kitchen, “You _promised_ you’d come to the party!”

“I did… but I didn’t agree to the party coming to _me._ ”

“Well, you should have been more _exact_  about that then,” he said with a pointed look at Combeferre.

“Did you agree to this?” Enjolras asked disbelievingly and the other man sighed heavily before he justified himself, “You know, I hadn’t much of a choice. He’s like an angry kitten when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Courfeyrac called from the wobbly chair he was standing on.

They grinned at each other and Enjolras rolled his eyes without them noticing. Not that they would notice anything else when they looked at each other. He sighed quietly, knowing when a fight was lost, and took off his coat.

Then he scuffed into the kitchen that had been turned into a five star buffet for breakfast, lunch and dinner all at once.

This was getting worse.

“Did you invite a soccer team?”

“No, I didn’t,” Courfeyrac answered from the living room, “Well, that one guy plays soccer, don’t ask me what his name is, something with M maybe or N, but that’s not the point. The point is what if someone is vegetarian or vegan or fruitarian or lactose intolerant? What are they supposed to eat?”

“What the…”

“You know Enjy,” he was interrupted when the dark-haired man looked around the corner into the kitchen, “I only get the best for my friends… or the people who think they are. But most importantly I like my parties like myself. Enjoyable for everyone and absolutely perfect.”

He disappeared again but when Enjolras shook his head disbelievingly and reached out for a strawberry he heard the other man calling, “Don’t you dare touch the food!”

“Okay, okay!”

He sighed again and manoeuvred through the beer crates on the floor towards the coffee machine. It was about 6 pm after a busy day at university so coffee was probably going to make it better; to be honest coffee was the solution for most of Enjolras’ problems. 

With a steaming cup of liquid black gold he went to his room passing Courfeyrac who was now trying to get the stereo working with the help of Combeferre who looked like he considered running away given the fact that the other man was happily humming the melody of a Beyoncé song.

It was a shame he even recognized it but well, there wasn’t much of a choice with a friend like Courfeyrac.

It was either that when he visited Enjolras and Combeferre in their apartment – what happened about six to seven times a week – or the med student’s angry string quartets.

Their taste in party music was equally terrifying so it most likely was only going to get better when Éponine or Jehan showed up and until that Enjolras hated parties. Well, he hated parties anyway but there was always the possibility to grab a cup of coffee, make some small talk for five minutes and then disappear in the silence of his room with his laptop and earplugs.

He opened the door and…

 

“ _Courfeyrac!_ ”

 

“What? We needed space for dancing and Ferre’s room is full of books, we had to put the furniture _somewhere._ It’s logical,” he called back with a hint of panic in his voice that definitely belonged there, “Ferre, tell him it’s logical!”

 

“Courfeyrac, _for heaven’s sake you barricaded my room!_ ”

 

 

***

 

 

Marius tumbled through the door while Enjolras sat on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand that was still as full as two hours ago, a lousy attempt of a peace offering from Courfeyrac 

Only after Combeferre had threatened to shackle them with the rest of the fairy lights he had stopped pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door where Courfeyrac had locked himself – a simple but good idea he had to admit - and decided to _pout –_ as Combeferre called it – on the couch he didn’t know.

At least it was comfortable and red, that was a bonus.

“Hi, ehm...,” the new arrival looked around, “Wow, it looks…”

“Wonderful? Fabulous? Thank you, young man, I know,” Courfeyrac grinned but didn’t miss how Enjolras rolled his eyes. The only reaction was a wink in his direction when he shoved Marius into the kitchen to get something to drink for him.

Combeferre sat down next to him and sighed.

“Stop it, you agreed to this. You’re not allowed to sigh,” Enjolras murmured but his friend just chuckled at his bad mood and took the glass from his hand to take a sip of the wine.

“This is an excellent one, I can tell you.”

Enjolras took it back and eyed the dark red liquid suspiciously.

Eventually _he_ sighed. “I hate parties.”

The other man patted his arm soothingly, “I know. But once in a while you have to have to take a break.”

“You’re the one to talk.”

“Well,” he took the glass again, “I’m trying to be a good example.”

The doorbell rang and Courfeyrac sprinted out of the kitchen. “More guests!” he practically sang and opened the door to a group of three guys and two girls Enjolras had seen at university once or twice.

Combeferre clapped his back and stood up but left the glass of wine on the small coffee table. “At least try to enjoy yourself okay?”

He only grumbled in response not bothering to give a full response.

 

Another hour later half of the living room was filled with laughing, drinking and chatting people. The night got a little bit better when Éponine joined him on the sofa he hadn’t left all evening by shoving away a girl with dyed red hair and dark painted lips that had been trying to engage him in a conversation for the last twenty minutes. Somehow she managed to be extremely persistent and extremely boring at the same time.

“Hey Enjy.”

Éponine flopped down between them and slung her legs in lace tights and knee high socks on his laps before she placed a kiss on his cheek. Then she turned to the girl, raising an eyebrow. “And you are?” she asked and looked up and down at her.

Redhead just stared at her for a second then she stumbled up and murmured a disappointed, “Doesn’t matter,” and disappeared.

Éponine grinned and pulled back her legs while at the same time she fetched the glass of wine that was at least half empty by now from Enjolras’ hand.

“Thank you,” he said honestly but she waved him off.

“Don’t mention it, honey.” She drowned the rest of wine in one go, “Mhm, this one is good. You can’t say Courf doesn’t know how to throw a party.”

“Just a party?” Courfeyracs voice came from their side, “Not a _great_ party or something like that?” He slung his long legs over the backrest and almost fell down again on the other side.

“Okay, okay. It’s awesome,” she corrected herself and he grinned.

The ringing of the doorbell was almost not to hear over the music.

“Don’t you want to go?” Enjolras asked but Courfeyrac looked down at his watch and shook his head. “Nah,” he simply said.

Instead of him Marius opened the door and the girl from the gala whose name Enjolras maybe would have remembered about three days ago entered the apartment looking totally gorgeous in a red dress with fitting lipstick and her long blonde hair shining golden in the warm light of the room. Marius seemed to think the same because he was starring again but Enjolras only paid attention to the young man that followed her with casually swinging steps.

Grantaire and well, he remembered that name.

He had at first scarcely allowed him to be pretty. He had looked at him almost with disdain at the gala, only to criticize. But no sooner he had surprised him so much with the sharpness of his tongue without any hint of intimidation, that he had been left speechless for the first time in years as far as he could remember, Enjolras had been honestly impressed and began to think of him and remember the sharpness of his croocked smile and the intelligence in the  expression of his beautifulblue and green eyes.

Now that he saw him again he made some other discoveries he didn't think of in his memory. Maybe there was more than one failure of perfect symmetry in the man’s form but he had to acknowledge the gracefulness of his steps or the defined muscles of his arms that could be made out under the fabric of the tight green button-up he was wearing. He couldn’t help but admire the curve of his upper lip and the silky black of his unruly black curls that were sticking into every direction.

Of this the other man was perfectly unaware of course, Enjolras was just the man who wasn’t agreeable at all and who had not thought him handsome enough to care. And just now he began to whish to know more of Grantaire only that he had no idea how that was supposed to happen. 

He really had gotten himself into a mess there.

 

“Oh look, finally some fun people,” Éponine interrupted his train of his thoughts briefly. He hardly noticed her standing up.

With more space on the sofa Courfeyrac found a comfortable position by throwing his legs on Enjolras lap and caught his attention by that. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” his friend said with a played pouty expression.

“No, I can’t imagine you do.”

He raised an eyebrow and then started with the worst imitation of Enjolras’ voice, “I am no fun because this party is no fun. Music and dancing, just a stupid waste of time in which you could do something much more productive, and the red of the wine is definitely too dark, that’s not even a real red anymore. And all those happy people, how terrible, the basic mood is 24.7 percent to good.”

He frowned, “That’s not how I talk.”

“Are you sure? You hear yourself differently from other people.”

Enjolras sighed. “Anyway, you’re wrong. I definitely didn’t think that. My mind was much more agreeable engaged.”

“Oh really? So what were you thinking?”

He looked over to the group of Marius, Cosette and Grantaire and couldn't help but smile a little bit in wonder.

 

“I've been thinking about how dazzlingly beautiful a pair of eyes in the face of a man can be."

 

When he looked back at Courfeyrac he found his friend starring at him, his mouth hanging open like he was a cartoon character.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing, nothing,” the dark haired man shook his head enthusiastically and a grin that didn’t promise anything good spread took over the puzzled and shocked expression from before, “Everything…” he stood up, “… is _perfect._ ”

He was about run away but then he turned around and suddenly Enjolras couldn’t breathe anymore because Courfeyrac was pressing the air out of his lungs by hugging him tightly.

“This is the best day of my life,” he said with a happy sigh.

“How much did you drink?” Enjolras managed to get out.

The other man took a step back and held him at arm’s length from him. “Just enough,” he winked and then he did a weird mixture of a jump and a pirouette when he turned around to rush off.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. ;) Next chapter next Wednesday.


	7. Chapter: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein everyone ships Enjolras and Grantaire except for Grantaire. But well, there is a very thin line between love and hate, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire/Éponine is my Brotp, okay? ;)  
> Enjoy the chapter <3

***

 

Grantaire wasn’t the biggest fan of college parties. He would never say no to alcohol for free but he preferred ragged and comfortable bars with cheap beer and the company of people that detested life in this moments just as much as him. He definitely didn’t like _rich kid’s college parties_ even though the alcohol was more bearable, most times some scotch or other things out of daddy’s hidden supply but these things escalated far too quickly and he wasn’t interested in persistent boys or girls in short skirts that got drunk from one shot tequila.

 

Cosette pulled him out of the elevator to the door of an apartment in the third floor of an elegant corner house that had to cost hell of a rent given the fact that the walls were clean and freshly painted and the elevator was actually _working_.

Grantaire had never met anyone who lived in a house with a working elevator in London.

Maybe he was just spending his time in the wrong circles.

 _Or the right_ , he thought when Madonna’s voice reached his ears through the closed door.

 

“Why did I agree to this again?”

“You sound like a broken record.”

He snorted, “Maybe because somehow you always get me to do things I regret later.”

“I am sorry for being such a bad influence,” Cosette said innocently and looked up at him with big puppy eyes before she rang the doorbell.

“Sass doesn’t suit your pretty face.”

“Are you sure? Because two hours ago you told me, I’d look wonderful in everything.”

“That was just the light,” he mumbled under his breath but she still understood him and hit his shoulder playfully.

“Stop being grumpy and smile. We want to make a good impression.”

“I think you made quite an impression the last time,” he said but tried to smile anyway.

“Better?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Perfect,” she shot back, “No... wait.”

She took a step closer, smoothed down Grantaire’s collar and ruffled through his hair. When she licked her thumb and brought it up to his forhead he batted her hand away and rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, you had your fun, I’m not five anymore.”

She just grinned and then the door opened.

Since it was the party of some friend he hadn’t expected to see Marius Pontmercy himself opening the door. The black dress shirt he wore didn’t make him look any less lost as the suit from the gala and Grantaire wondered if formal wear just wasn’t his style or if it was a general thing.

“You came,” he stated the obvious with a wide grin spreading over his face and Grantaire felt really tempted to say something like, “No shit, Sherlock,” but he decided against it because Cosette might look small and delicate but she would definitely find a wicked way of pay-back.

The young woman smiled.

“Of course we did, thank you for the invitation.”

Marius Pontmercy nodded enthusiastically and held the door open for them. “Please come in, come in.” He helped Cosette out of her coat and Grantaire didn’t miss him blushing furiously when her perfect strapless red dress was revealed.

He took a quick look at the scenery, a large room that must have been a normal living room once but all the light chains, couches at the sides, red plastic cups and people standing around or dancing in the middle made it look more like a high school prom hall and he had to admit it was actually quite impressing. Someone seemed to have put a lot of effort in this and that was a thing he could approve even though the music really made him wish for earplugs.

 

Someone took his hand and shoved a plastic cup into it.

He looked up to find Éponine grinning at him.

“Thought you might appreciate that,” she shrugged and he had to grin back.

After asking Cosette for the other woman’s number they’d been texting and calling each other throughout the whole week and he was pretty sure he had found another platonic soulmate given how easy everything seemed with her. She might be a little rough and edgy but somehow they got on so well that it felt like they’d known each other for years.

“Thank you Éponine, it’s very nice to see you again,” he bowed his head and she rolled her eyes.

“Oh shut up, this is not some fancy charity thing, you can shove your fake politeness up your ass.”

“Or you could help me find something to eat _at first_ and we look for someone to shove something up my ass later,” he retoured and Marius Pontmercy’s eyes widened in shock when he looked back and forth between them.

“Do… do you want something to drink?” he asked Cosette who smiled and followed him into the kitchen but not without hitting Grantaire’s arm before turning around.

 

“I think I scared him.”

“Of course you did, you don’t talk like that to a lady you hardly know.”

“Did I insult you, Miss Thenardier?”

“Do I look insulted?”

“More annoyed but I have enough self esteem to pin that on the music.”

She shrugged, “You don’t know these people, we had worse.”

“Really?” he asked sceptically because how could there be something worse than this.

“Really,” she said seriously.

“So what are you doing then the whole night?”

“Get drunk and find someone who’s equally drunk to put up with you.”

“Doesn’t sound that bad.”

“The alcohol makes it not that bad,” she explained and pointedly took a sip out of her own cup. He did the same and well, he had no idea what he was drinking but it did taste good.

“I agree with you on that,” Grantaire admitted and let his gaze casually wander through the crowd of people, “So, care to help me find someone fun in this mess here?”

She raised an eyebrow that made it perfectly clear she was well aware that his mind had been flickering to another familiar face that could be somewhere in the room as well. But he didn’t said something like this and eventually she shrugged, “Sure,” she said with a lopsided smile and flopped her hair over the shoulder, “What is it then tonight, Mister Grantaire, boy or girl?”

“Surprise me.”

The dark-haired woman grinned wolfishly and linked her arm with his to pull him away from the entrance door to the centre of the party.

They made it about two steps when out of nowhere a guy with wild black hair sticking into every direction in a white shirt with cat pattern and a – hopefully it was just the light – pink bow tie appeared next to Éponine and practically ripped Grantaire’s hand away to shake it enthusiastically while he started talking his head off with a huge grin. 

“Hello, pretty boy I’ve never seen before. I am very glad that you’re here. I am Courfeyrac. I’m Marius’ room mate. You know Marius? The one with the freckles and the weird gait who went away with that lovely girl? Did you come with her? Oh, you must have been coming with her, anyway, are you into boys? Oh wait, wrong order. It’s so nice to meet you, what’s your name?”

He finally let go of his hand and Grantaire couldn’t help but stare for a moment. The man looked back with a smile and gleeful anticipation in sparkling eyes waiting for him to answer.

Grantaire shot a quick look at Éponine who seemed to try really hard not to burst out into laughter and ordered the thoughts in his head.

“Hello,” he started slowly, “It’s nice to meet you too. Yes, I met Marius last Saturday. I’m here with Cosette, she’s my best friend. Sometimes and my name is Grantaire.”

“Grantaire,” he repeated, emphasizing every syllable and grinned but from one second to another the smile fell from his face. “Oh Damnit, I didn’t plan what to do next,” he said disbelievingly and added, “I’ll be back,” before he turned around muttering something like, “Stupid Courfeyrac, stupid, get your head in the game,” under his breath.

Grantaire looked after him.

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

Éponine still barely concealed her grin, “ _That_ was Courfeyrac.”

“Holy shit, is he always like that?” he asked still a little bit startled.

“To be honest. Yes.”

Grantaire let out a long breath and shook his head, “Well, he seems to be one of a kind.”

“Believe me, this was not about you.”

He turned to her and put on a pouting expression. “How can you be sure about that?”

“I know what it looks like when he’s up to something. Plus he’s somewhat taken.”

“He’s taken?” he repeated a little bit or a little bit more disbelieving.

“Well, he doesn’t know about it yet.”

There wasn’t any further explanation so he just shrugged. He had met crazier people. Okay, maybe not crazier in that forward, exited kitten-style but in a more fucked up and intimidating way.

Éponine raised her hand and seem to wave someone over.

Another young man who made his way over through the people said “excuse me” about five times before he eventually reached them. His dark curls were rumpled and the warm brown eyes behind thick framed black glasses looked tired but not unfriendly. He seemed a little bit displaced wearing brown khakis and a cardigan with elbow patches but didn’t look uncomfortable.

“Hey Éponine, nice to see you here,” he said and kissed her cheek before he turned to Grantaire, “And you must be Grantaire.”

He shook the offered hand with a smile, “It seems my reputation precedes me.”

 “I’ve only heard the good things. I am Combeferre” the man responded with a smile then asked Éponine, “Hey, do you know what’s up to Courf? He just ran past me and if i heard correctly he mumbled ‘I need a battle plan’.”

The young woman grinned, “I don’t know but if he said something like that and I was you and regarding to what happened last time I would really take care of my post-its and markers.”

Combeferre paled.

“Excuse me,” he said slowly, “It was nice meeting you Grantaire.”

Then he was gone faster than Grantaire could say anything else. He looked at the point where Combeferre had disappeared so quickly and suddenly a light dawned on him.

“Wait…No.”

Éponine just grinned.

“Seriously? That guy and… the other guy? God, he looked like the straightest person on this planet.”

“A friend of mine always says that there are as many forms of love as moments in time,” she said laughing but he could still sense a hint of sadness in her eyes.

He didn’t mention it.

“You have weird friends.”

“Yeah…”

 

“Am I included?” a voice asked from behind them and Grantaire immediately felt his heart jumping at the sound.

 

He turned around to see Enjolras with an almost empty glass of wine in his hand and of course he wouldn’t have fucking plastic cup and damn, was it possible to become even more beautiful within a week? The light danced in his curls and when he had looked awesome in a suit than he was just stunning in tight – very tight – jeans and and black plaid shirt, top buttons opened and exposing his collar bones and his neck, his very long, elegant neck and stop.

It took him a few seconds too long to remember that the man had behaved like an arrogant asshole.

“You’re the weirdest of them all,” Éponine said seriously.

“I take that as a compliment.”

Grantaire had a hard time holding back a snort. 

“Sure you do,” the young woman rolled her eyes but there was actually a smile on the other man’s lips.

 

He internally hit himself for staring.

 

“So why did you decide to finally stand up and join us hedonistic ones?” Éponine asked. 

“Don’t believe everything Courfeyrac is saying,” Enjolras told her, “Contrary to popular believe I am perfectly capable of enjoying myself. From time to time.”

Grantaire was going to congratulate himself for his self-control afterwards. The way he managed not to roll his eyes or to laugh at that was already a feat.

“And how do you intend to do that, Mister…Enjolras?” he said after a short pause of reflection - in the corner of his eye he could see Éponine stifle her laughter- “If I remember correctly you’re not very fond of dancing.”

“I might not be fond of dancing, Mister Grantaire,” Enjolras said, smiling. Grantaire didn’t trust his smile. It could be a smile that was delivered right on time with a dagger in his chest. “But I do enjoy the company of intelligent, talkative people who have a great deal of conversation.”

 _Here we go,_ he thought.

“Well, I suppose the possibility of finding such people here is extraordinary vast,” he replied and left no doubt of the sarcasm in his voice but punctuated his words with an equally polite smile.

But Enjolras still looked at him firmly, his bright blue eyes never leaving Grantaires’.

“It is certainly not impossible.”

“But until…”

“Until that you can always drink down your standards,” Éponine interfered and put a hand on Grantaire’s arm. He could see Enjolras’ gaze flicker down for a second, disapproval clearly visible and the rush of dislike that overcame him seemed stronger than anything he had ever felt before because who was this man to judge him?

“I don’t plan on doing that,” Enjolras smiled, and god, why was he still smiling? “But I wanted to get myself another glass of wine anyway since it really is an excellent one.”

“As I said, Courf knows how to throw a party,” Éponine said then she looked at Grantaire quickly before turning back to Enjolras, “Hey, could you show R the kitchen? He hasn’t eaten yet and I bet your hyperactive bowtie wearing kitten of a friend would be personally insulted if not everyone here tried his guacamole. I think I heard the doorbell, I’ll be right back.”

And before Grantaire was even close to a protest she left him standing with Enjolras next to him and music thrumming in his ears.

 

 

***

 

“Hey, Éponine, have you seen Enjolras and, or Grantaire anywhere?”

“You’re such a newbie, Courfeyrac.”

 

***


	8. Chapter 8: Combeferre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Combeferre tries to be serious again until an unexpected visitor shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter with one of my favourites (and for once I am not talking about Combeferre).

***

 

“And then she called me a newbie!” Courfeyrac exclaimed more loudly than necessary over the sound of the music.

“Egregious,” he called back and the other man hit his shoulder.

“Don’t make fun of me, Ferre!”

Combeferre rolled his eyes and pulled him away from the speakers to a quieter corner so he wouldn’t have to shout for the rest of the conversation.

“I just can’t help the feeling that you’re both behaving a little bit ridiculous.”

Courfeyrac looked at him pouting. The only thing he’d have to do to look even more like a five year old girl would be to stomp with his foot on the ground. “Not ridiculous. Helpful! We’re just trying to be helpful!”

“Now it is _we_ again? A second ago you were complaining about her.”

The other man snorted and waved it off. “Well, she wasn’t behaving nicely but in the end we fight for the same goal.”

“And that would be?”

“To make Enjolras happy,” Courfeyrac said firmly.

Combeferre sighed.

They both had different opinions about what would be best to make their friend happy and as much as he hated to be the one to tell Courfeyrac when he was stepping over the edge even though he only meant to do a good thing – someone had to do it and since in this case Enjolras couldn’t be the one...well. 

“Setting him up won’t help him,” he argued softly but not without firmness, “we both know that Enjolras doesn’t want to date. Not anyone. Not anything. To be honest, the most realistic possibility would be to set him up with his coffee machine.”

Against his will the other man giggled and couldn’t conceal it quickly enough for Combeferre to not notice.

He smiled.

But he had made the mistake of becoming friends with two of the most stubborn people in the world.

“It’s different this time,” Courfeyrac started again, “we’re not just trying to set him up. Well, I can’t speak for Éponine, maybe she just tries to get him laid, who knows how her head it working, I’ve never been able to understand women completely as much as I tried to, nevermind, I, personally, want him to find the love of his…,” he trailed off suddenly very interested in the shape of his plastic cup, “…life,” he eventually ended then giggled like a fourteen year old girl.

“Courf, how much did you drink?”

He grinned broadly. “Just enough.”

Combeferre couldn’t help but sigh again.

“Come one. Don’t sigh!” the dark-haired man insisted, “You can just imagine I am hundred percent sober and then talk to me like I am still hundred percent sober, what I _almost_ am. Okay. Maybe just 75 percent with a lot of optimism, but you know me, always the optimist. Just tell me the argument your pretty head is coming up with.”

Something in his brain paused for a moment. 

“Pretty?”

“Did I say pretty?” The other man giggled again.

He was certainly not blushing. He had this under control.

It was just the alcohol that made him feel a little bit light-headed. It had nothing to do with the fact that Courfeyrac had just called him pretty or with the way the light danced in the other mans’ eyes and made his black hair shine and how the wine had turned his lips red.

 _You had one glass, idiot,_ his brain provided helpfully.

Alright, this was not the time for that.

“Nevermind,” he waved it off even though Courfeyrac already seemed distracted by counting the cats on his shirt. “How can you be sure that someone none of us really knows is the undeniable love of Enjolras’ life?”

He had only caught a glimpse on the man, Grantaire, that Éponine had invited and he was more than surprised that Courfeyrac was so enthralled by the idea of him and their best friend together. He seemed nice enough, funny maybe. If he was pretty would be a matter of opinion. He couldn’t really judge the man from three seconds talking but he hadn’t striked him as very impressive. He wasn’t even sure what he should expect someone matching for Enjolras to be.

Courfeyrac stopped in his movements and still smiled broadly, “Because he’s totally into that guy and as you said, usually he isn’t into _anyone_.”

“And how do you know that?”

The other man was able to read anything into a simple gesture if it just helped his cause.

“He told me,” he simply stated, triumph was written all over his face.

Combeferre snorted. “With his eyes?”

“No, no, no,” he paused significantly, “With his _mouth._ ”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that but he knew that his smile betrayed him. It was just to hard to be all serious when Courfeyrac grinned back at him. “I can sass myself, Mister.”

The other man wiggled his eyebrows.

“Mhh, I like it when you talk dirty to me.”  
Courfeyracs’ eyes blinked in amusement and Combeferre let out a noise that hopefully sounded like another snort and not like he was choking.

“You were saying…,” he prompted and the other man leaned back – when had he came closer – with a smug grin.

“Right. So Enjy, Ponine and I sat on the sofa and then Ponine went to the door to say hi to Marius’ lovely lady and her _friend_ and I said I knew what he was thinking, something undoubtably depreciative about my awesome party, but he told me I was wrong and said – I quote,” he switched to a weird imitation that probably was supposed to be Enjolras’ voice, “’My mind was much more agreeable engaged. I’ve been thinking about how dazzlingly beautiful a pair of eyes in the face of a man can be’. And guess who he was looking at.”

Combeferre stared at him.

“No way.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Suck it up Buttercup.”

He looked at the overjoyed man who seemed close to jumping up and down and tried to figure out what to think. They were talking about _Enjolras_ at last.

He truly loved his friend dearly and if he was really romantically interested in someone – or however one was supposed to call it – in another breathing, living human being, as surprising that came, a push in the right direction would probably help more than do harm.

Courfeyrac held his gaze with a challenging smile playing around the corner of his lips.

“Do we interrupt anything?”

Both of their heads snapped to the small red-haired man that was suddenly standing next to them, looking back and forth.

“Jehan!” Courfeyrac exclaimed and hugged the new arrival, “It’s so great you made it! How was… ehm…”

“Prague,” the smaller man supplied smilingly, “It was truly lovely, thank you.”

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did,” Jehan chuckled and brought a hand up to straighten Courfeyrac’s bow tie before he turned to Combeferre.

They had met the English student in their first year of university. He had been quiet and shy, with his pastel jeans and huge jumpers, at first but when his natural shyness was overcome, his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart – and a weird fascination for plants and skulls.

He did his best to welcome their friend who had been on a trip to Prague for the last two weeks but he couldn’t help but feel the mounting tension because of the all too familiar man that was with him.

Their eyes met over Jehan’s shoulder and a crooked smile appeared on the other man’s face.

“Combeferre, Courfeyrac, may I introduce you to…”

“Parnasse,” Combeferre got ahead of him.

“Ferre,” the man said smoothly, his dark eyes, almost as black as his hair, never leaving Combeferre's.

Jehan seemed surprised. “You know each other?”

“Briefly,” he said calmly.

“Not that briefly, right?” Montparnasse smiled. “But it has been a long time.”

“A very long time.”

“Too long, I would say.”

Combeferre perfectly contained his smile while he considered the possibilities of what to do next.

He hadn’t planned on seeing the other man again any time soon. He honestly hadn’t planned on seeing the other man ever again but still it didn’t came as a shock. He felt strangely calm given all the pent-up anger he probably was supposed to feel.

Maybe he should stop drinking.

The alcohol made his mind work different from what he was used to.

He met Courfeyrac’s confused gaze and shook his head very, very slightly hoping it would tell the other man to not involve the man in any kind of plan. He knew his friend well and he was aware of how charming Parnasse could be and with his pale skin, dark hair and red lips he certainly wasn’t unattractive so much hadn’t changed in the years they hadn’t seen each other.

“Excuse me, I’ll get myself another drink,” he lied without much effort and turned to leave. He caught a glimpse on Jehan whose surprise had turned into confusion as well but he didn’t attempt to ask the unspoken question of how they knew each other.

He wasn’t keen on answering that.

The most important thing now was to find Enjolras and make sure there wasn’t going to be a murder this night.

Since he couldn’t make out the blonde in the crowded living room and his room had been successfully barricaded he manoeuvred through the people to the kitchen and stopped right on the doorstep.

The scene that unfolded in front of him wouldn’t be anything special on the first look but the pieces clicked together almost immediately and erased all doubts he might have had.

Enjolras’ eyes were locked with the other mans’ whose black hair was an unruly mess of curls he was constantly running his hand through. The other lay on the counter just inches away from his friend’s and they didn’t even seem to notice that their distance while they were talking enthusiastically was much closer than actually necessary. They didn't seem to notice anything around them.

“All this one must posses,” Enjolras just said from conviction.

The other man’s mouth curled up into a crooked smile. “I am no longer surprised that you only know six accomplished people. I rather wonder now that you know _any._ ” His voice dripped from sarcasm.

A blonde curl fell in Enjolras face and the other man’s blue and green eyes flickered away, distracted for a moment.

“Are you so severe upon the human nature to doubt the possibility of all this?”

“Not severe, just realistic.”

“Pessimistic, I would rather say.”

“Oh, would you?”

 

 He cleared his throat.

Grantaire immediately flinched while Enjolras only looked to the side where Combeferre stood in the door. Then he leaned back slowly, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said and meant it, “But Enjolras, can I talk to you for a moment. It’s very important.”

“What can possibly be so very important, this is a party," the blond man said but set down his glass anyway. The other man took a big gulp out of his red plastic cup however.

“Believe me, there is something.”

“If you excuse me,” Enjolras turned to Grantaire but the other man just waved him off. “Sure, no problem. It seems to be serious.”

He thanked him silently when Enjolras walked over but stopped abruptly after two steps.

“Enjolras,” a smooth voice said behind Combeferre and Montparnasse just walked past him into the kitchen, a smile playing around the corner of his full, red lips.

Damnit.

 

***


	9. Chapter 9: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Grantaire makes Montparnasse's acquantiance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse is a terrible young man capable of being charming.

***

 

Grantaire had always considered himself a tolerant man.

He didn’t want to judge people he had only met once. He knew he wasn’t the most likeable person himself so he really wanted to give people the chance to prove themselves.

Surely, he always had a rather good intuition when it came to judge someone’s character but he liked to bide a little so he had enough time to validate his first opinion that had turned out correctly without exception until now.

And obviously it would be that case again because Enjolras truly knew how to get on somebody’s bad side and he didn’t even seem to notice. He obviously thought that all of the bullshit that came out of his beautiful mouth was totally valid. Grantaire wasn’t quite sure yet if he tried to humiliate him on purpose or if it was just his general way of talking.

In that case he was even more arrogant than he had thought.

It was a sad thing that arrogance and handsomeness went hand in hand most of the times. Add a huge amount of money in the trust-fond and a stiff boarding school education and you would get exactly the man standing in front of him now.

An angelically beautiful man that was still smiling sweetly even though he had just told Grantaire straight into the face that he wasn’t an accomplished person since his image of perfection obviously only included six people.

He didn’t consider himself a vain.

Actually he considered himself a useless something like an artist who was broke most of the time but he could collect enough pieces of his low self esteem to not be okay with it when someone talked him and everyone else down when they hadn’t had the same possibilities because their parents weren’t made of money.

All that qualities that Enjolras had made an effort to count out for him didn’t made an accomplished person. Knowledge, Intelligence, whatsoever – how had they even managed to get to that topic?

He only knew that he wasn’t really thinking when the blond man said something with this look from bright blue eyes that seemed to try to stare right into his soul. He had tried to make at least a little bit polite conversation. And somehow they had ended up at the nature of humans within less than two minutes and Grantaire couldn’t bring himself from using all the sarcasm he had to offer and Enjolras didn’t even twitched. He was behaving so differently than that evening at the gala which seemed like months ago.

He didn’t blush anymore.

He didn’t seem angry.

He just talked politely and obviously tried to maintain the image of interest when he listened to what Grantaire said with his eyes never leaving his face and a smile playing around his lips that was very well acted.

He had to think that he wasn’t even worth the disdain.

Grantaire had met some of those rich people that looked down on everyone who didn’t wear a perfectly tailored suit and parted hair but he had never bothered.

This was different. This time it made him hurt and furious at the same time.

Maybe because he couldn’t stop thinking how beautifully Enjolras’ long lashes casted shadows on his cheeks or how perfectly elegant his long, slender fingers moved or how his golden curls fell into his face when he frowned because his mind was obviously just shallow.

 

He almost missed his cue, distracted by the perfectly curling strand of hair that fell into the other man’s face, when Enjolras said, “Are you so severe upon the human nature to doubt the possibility of all this?”

Oh great, now he was the severe one who doubted human nature, great.

“Not severe, just realistic,” he spat out. He had stopped bothering about a nice and polite tone in his voice a while ago.

“Pessimistic, I would rather say,” the other man said and of course _he_ was still lofty enough to keep calm.

“Would you?” Grantaire snapped back and back in his mind he knew he was behaving like a stubborn child but he wasn’t ready to acknowledge this just now.

 

Someone cleared his throat and his head turned to the door where the young man Éponine had introduced him to, was standing now, an apologizing look in his brown eyes.

 

He looked back to Enjolras and whoa, he was really fucking _close_ and how the hell did that happen?

He flinched immediately, the blond man didn’t move.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Combeferre – that was his name, wasn’t it? – said like he meant it and Grantaire was about to shake his head because he wasn’t interrupting anything, he was rather glad he didn’t need to be alone with Enjolras and his stupid hair anymore.  “But Enjolras, can I talk to you for a moment? It is very important,” he added and the sincerity in his tone made it unmistakably clear the objections wouldn’t be accepted.

Still Enjolras only raised an eyebrow. “What can possibly be so important, this is a party.”

Alright, he didn’t know why this man still wanted to talk to him and not just leave as quickly as possible. He perhaps just wanted to torture him a little bit longer.  
Grantaire took a big gulp from the cliché red plastic cup that calmed him down. Combeferre however didn’t seem that calm anymore. His brows furrowed when he insisted, “Believe me, there is something.”

Enjolras turned to him. “If you excuse me,” he said and the disappointment in his voice was truly believable if Grantaire hadn’t known better.

“Sure, no problem” – no problem at all – “It seems to be serious.”

Combeferre nodded in relief when Enjolras walked over but then he stopped all sudden.

“Enjolras,” said the man that was elegantly walking past Combeferre into the kitchen.

He couldn’t see Enjolras was face but his whole body tensed while the other man was smiling friendly.

 

Grantaire had obviously missed the point in his life where all the people that surrounded him were suddenly only utterly handsome.

The new arrival was tall, even though a little bit smaller than Enjolras but his skin was just as pale. But when Enjolras looked like the sun impersonated with his halo of golden curls and bright blue eyes, the other man was like the moon. He wore a dark red dress shirt; a few buttons open so it wouldn’t look that stiff, to ash grey trousers. His hair was dark like the night, sleek and silky, his eyes in a shade of brown that could almost be called black and his full lips red like cherries curled up into a charming, engaging smile.

 

Combeferre sighed quietly and somehow Grantaire felt like he was just being part of a scene he didn’t belong to.

“Parnasse,” Enjolras said and his voice was cold as ice. Then he practically stormed off.

“Grantaire – Montparnasse. Parnasse – Grantaire. Excuse me,” Combeferre said quickly and followed him on his heels.

Okay, that was weird indeed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grantaire” Montparnasse said and crossed the kitchen with two long steps to offer his hand.

Grantaire took it still a little bit confused but the man’s smile was easy and friendly so he immediately relaxed. “Yeah, you too.”

“So, are you a friend of Enjolras?”

“God no,” he answered a little bit too quickly and Montparnasse raised an eyebrow. “I mean, ehm, I don’t really know him. I’m just here because I agreed to accompany a friend. What about you?”

“Likewise,” he said, “But I’ve known Enjolras since we were children, we practically were family,” he added with a smile that seemed a little bit bitter.

Grantaire couldn't hide his surprise. Montparnasse struck him as a charming young man and he couldn’t really think of a scenario where he and Enjolras could be part of the same family. “Really?”

“I see your surprise and I understand that after you saw the cold manner of our meeting.”

“Well, I am not really surprised by him. I find him quite ... disagreeable,” he stated without thinking much about it. It might not be perfectly polite to talk like that but hell, free speech and stuff.

“I have no right to give my opinion,” Montparnasse said vaguely but he could see that he agreed silently, “I’ve know him far too long to fairly judge. But I believe it doesn’t happen often that someone finds him unlikable.”

Grantaire snorted, “Probably because he’s rich and handsome or he just frightens people with his high manners.”

“I actually wander what he’s doing at a party like this. Usually he just hides in his room.”

He shrugged. “I was wondering as well. But I just hope that his cold behaviour won’t make you enjoy this evening any less.”

Montparnasse laughed, showing perfect white teeth. “Oh no,” he assured and Grantaire felt relieved. There seemed to be hope for this party at last. “I won’t be driven away by Mister Enjolras. We might not be on friendly terms and it pains me to see him being so cold. His father is one of the most generous man and one of the best friends I ever had but he is just that, his father, so I can’t hold it against him that he chose his son blind to his scandalous behaviour against me.”

 

Grantaire found his interest increasing but the other man switched to more casual topics. He asked for his studies and listened interested when he told him about his art courses. When he answered the question in return, he explained that he wasn’t attending university anymore and tried to build up his own business.

 

“I now must look where I find my on employment since my actual plans for the time after my degree have been thwarted. I wouldn’t have to deal with so many difficulties, had it pleased the man we were just talking of.”

“What did he do?” Grantaire wanted to know and Montparnasse hesitated a moment before he slowly started to explain.

“You must know, Mister Enjolras Senior was my godfather and raised me since my parents died young. He was always really kind to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant for me and his son to become co-owners of his firm after getting our degrees but at that point this promise was denied to me.”

He heard the calm and halting explanation as if he didn’t want to talk bad about the people involved and felt anger again. “How could that be? I mean, how could he deny you this opportunity when he promised it?”

“A man of honour could not have doubted my intentions but Enjolras did. He convinced his father that my only purpose was to destroy the enterprise and legacy he had build up from the inside and planned on selling company secrets to the competitors only because I had started to fall for the daughter of one of his rivals in the business. He believed him and I was disinherited and turned adrift.”

“That’s shocking! Why the hell did he behaves like such an asshole?”

Montparnasse shrugged and even that he did with undeniable grace. “A determined dislike in me, I suppose. I guess it was caused by jealousy. Had his father liked me less, Enjolras might have bear with me better. But I can forgive him since Enjolras is still his biological son and I’m just an orphan that had lived his life in the goodness of an honourable man.”

Grantaire was shocked, to put it lightly. He hadn’t liked Enjolras from the beginning. He had thought him proud and arrogant but not that downright cruel.

“I wouldn’t have thought he'd be so heartless,” he said thoughtfully, “I thought he had a general dislike in everyone not in his position but that he would treat someone like you, someone who grew up with him, in such a manner – I hadn’t expected that.”

“We were like brothers,” he said quietly and Grantaire couldn’t help but put a hand sympathetically on the other man’s arm. He looked up with half of a smile.

 

“R, here you are,” Éponine came into the room and stopped when she saw Montparnasse. “Cosette is looking for you,” she added but didn’t take a step further.

“Is she?” he asked, “I wouldn’t have expected her to remember me at all once in the company of our beloved Marius Pontmercy.”

He turned to the other man to apologize for leaving but Montparnasse was faster. “I should probably look for my friend as well,” he said with a smile, “Thank you for the wonderful conversation, Grantaire.”

He returned the smile. “You’re welcome.”

When he passed Éponine to walk out of the kitchen Montparnasse followed him.

  
He didn‘t notice when the man tried to take her hand. He didn’t notice her batting his hand away. The music was too loud to hear her whispering, “Don’t you dare touch me.”

 

What he noticed when Éponine dragged him left and Montparnasse turned to the right, were Combeferre and Courfeyrac standing in a corner, the latter grinning and babbling while the other man looked at him, frowning and didn’t seem to listen.

When their eyes met briefly he turned to Courfeyrac and said something that made the other man stop midsentence and break out into a huge grin.

 

Then Éponine dragged him further.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter and I wish you all a happy early Halloween!


	10. Chapter 10: Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac is drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I totally forgot to update this yesterday. But here's the chapter now, I hope you enjoy it! ;)

***

 

The party was slowly starting to end. There were about fifteen people left in the living room and given the fact that the clock was ticking towards three in the morning he counted that as success. He ignored the fact that Enjolras had obviously found out the possibility of leaving to the balcony even though it was freaking cold. It was in the middle of February and the poor guy had to run from his feelings.

He certainly couldn’t be running from the party because it was fucking awesome.

Hopefully he wasn’t going to be sick. Sick Enjolras was like a giant bad-tempered kitten you had to feat and pat the whole day and he didn’t like the smell of chicken soup.

 

“Do you think pink would work with blue as well? I am so tired of all this pink and white or black, people should be more experimenting, take more risks.”

He tried to look down on the bow tie he was wearing today while Combeferre listened. He might not be the most extravagant example when it came to fashion choices but he was closest.

 

A dark blue maybe, like the midnight sky.

 

He eyed the other man’s cardigan. The sleeves weren’t rolled up what was pretty disappointing because Combeferre had really admirable forearms.

“Or maybe I should start with a brown.”

The other man didn’t say anything in response.

“But brown is so lame, no offense, it’s just looks like mud or chocolate. Wait, chocolate is great. Maybe brown isn’t that bad. Brown is awesome.”

 

“I’ll help you with Enjolras and Grantaire,” Combeferre suddenly said out of nowhere.

Well, that wasn’t what he had been talking about at all but it was definitely a change of topic to his liking.

 

Courfeyrac couldn’t help but grin. That plus the funny fuzziness in his head which was caused by the increasing amount of alcohol in his blood made him sling his arms around Combeferre’s neck.

He smelled like peppermint and books. How was it even possible for someone to smell like books?

“OMG, that’s so _awesome_. You smell great by the way. This is going to be so damn _perfect!_ ”

He let go of him and raised his hand. “Give me five!”

The other man frowned. “Yeah, well. No.”

“Come on, you can’t leave me hanging like this,” he nodded to his hand. He was not going to let this go. “Come on, Ferre. I know you want to. Come on. Do it. Ferre, do it!”

His friend sighed and clapped his hand.  
Courfeyrac tried very much not to show his triumph.

“We’re going to be like Batman and Robin, you and I. Batman and Robin of love. I am Batman. I have the legs for that, don’t you think? Or I am Cupid just not that fat and not that naked. Even though I could do the naked, I could totally do the naked.”

“Or maybe the world isn’t ready for that yet,” Combeferre shook his head and took the drink from his hand, “You definitely had enough.”

“No, no, no!” He tried to follow the other man’s hand what turned out difficult since the ground was shifting like they would be standing on a boat that was floating through a storm.

Combeferre held him upright by grabbing his arm. His hand was warm and his grip was firm.  
He carefully dragged him to one of the sofas where Jehan was sitting crossed-leg. When he was pushed down softly he immediately tried to do the same as the poet but just got his legs tangled and four hands kept him from falling.

He giggled because this was freaking funny.

He didn’t even know which hand belonged to whom anymore.

So many hands.

“Could you take care of him for a moment? I have to look after Enjolras,” Combeferre told Jehan and the poet nodded.

What? Why was he leaving?

“But Ferre, don’t go. We were just having soooo much fun.”

“I’ll be here,” Jehan whispered and put an arm around his shoulder.

The poet smelled like lavender and patchouli.

“You smell good. Not as good as Ferre but very, very good.”

“Thank you Courf,” he said and he could hear the smile in the other man’s voice.

The music made the ground vibrate.

“The ground is moving, it’s the music. Here’s music. Why aren’t we dancing?”

He stumbled up and took Jehans’ hands but the other man was remarkably strong and pulled him back.

"You are not dancing. You can’t even stand straight anymore.”

“Good because there’s nothing straight about me.”

Oh, that was a good one.

He had to laugh and it was really hard to stop after that. His stomach hurt and in the end he was curled up with his head on Jehan’s lap gasping for air.

The poet patted his hair gently.

He looked up to find the other man gazing over to the other side of the room where this friend of him, Montmartre or Parnasse or something like that, stood. He looked over and a smile appeared on his handsome face.

He was really handsome with big eyes like some Anime. A pretty Anime. His hair only had to be more ruffled. It should be sticking up into every direction like Courfeyrac’s. Everyone should have hair like him. Except for Combeferre.

Combeferre’s hair was really great. Really fluffy.

Mont-whatever, pretty boy winked at Jehan before a very drunk girl started to talk to him. He politely maintained a conversation that couldn’t be very deep anymore but he smiled nevertheless.

His gaze constantly flickered over to them.

Alright. That was interesting.

And wonderful.

Oh, all these possibilities.

Wonderful, how wonderful.

“Where did you find him?” he asked the poet and gestured vaguely into the other man’s direction. Obviously he wasn’t really accurate anymore.

“Who?”

“Come on, Prouvraire! Pretty boy over there.” He had actually planned on wiggling his eyebrows but it turned out to be quite difficult since everything started spinning so he stopped after the first attempt.

Jehan blushed. “Parnasse?”

“Yes, yes. Hey, isn’t that a cemetery in Paris?”

“Among other things,” he said and when Courfeyrac still looked at him hopefully he sighed. “I met him on the ferry from Calais. It was in the middle of the night and we were the only ones outside on the deck. It was really cold but a beautiful night and then he went down and some minutes later he came back with two hot chocolates.”

“With cream?”

“With cream,” he repeated dreamily.

“The boy’s a keeper.”

He brought his hand up to catch a streak of hair from the poet’s braid that he curled around his finger.

Jehan shook his head. “We’re just friends. There is nothing romantic to it.”

“Really? Have you seen the way he looked at you?”

He blushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I know exactly what I am talking about. And I am not blind. I have very observant eyes.”

The poets’ ears had a lovely shade of pink now.

“Just saying, honey.”

That was everything he had to do.

 

They should celebrate that with a drink.

 

“We should celebrate that with a drink!”

He tried to stand up again but Jehan held him back. “You’re not drinking anything anymore tonight.”

“Jehaaaan.”

“You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Courfeyrac pulled a pouting face but stayed where he was. Jehan’s hair was really soft and tickled his forehead.  

“Okay, okay. Someone has to be the reasonable one when Ferre is not here. Ying and Yang. Black and white, whatever.”

Jehan chuckled. “So… what is that between Combeferre and you?”

“What is what?” The poet’s pullover was really blue. Sky blue. “Do you think pink and blue match?”

“Not necessarily but you are trying to distract.”

“Distract? From what?”

The other man rolled his eyes. “You and Ferre, dork.”

“Oh, I love Ferre.”

Jehan looked down on him, his brown eyes widening in surprise.

Why was he surprised?

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, “Ferre is great. Sooo great. Great reader. He smells like books, did you know that? How can someone smell like books? And his hair is so… fluffy.”

The other man’s smile tugged up the corner of his mouth and he ran his fingers softly through Courfeyrac’s hair. “I see,” he simply said.

The patterns he traced on his scalp were soothing and his eyes drift shut eventually. Jehan hummed to the music that suddenly didn’t seem that loud anymore. He didn’t know how much time passed but he would happily stay on that couch for the rest of his life.

It was a good couch.

“Is he asleep?” Combeferre asked quietly.

“Mhhh.”

“Almost,” Jehan whispered.

“Mhhmhhh.”

“He can stay on the couch,” the other man said and he wanted to make a victory dance but he really didn’t w

ant to open his eyes. Courfeyrac felt the poet shifting slowly. He would say thank you later. Much later.

“Mont and I are going to head home.”  
“Yeah. It’s late.” Enjolras’ voice was cold probably from the freezing temperatures outside.

“Well, goodnight then.” That was cemetery boy. He had a nice voice, charming.

No one answered until Jehan repeated, “Yes, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Combeferre said.

“Goodnight,” Enjolras said.

“Mhhhmhhh.”

He liked Jehan. Jehan was great. He was his favourite after Combeferre. And Enjolras. He wouldn’t want Enjolras to be disappointed. The boy needed as much love as he could get.

“I love you,” he mumbled, “I love you all.” He was pretty proud that he still managed to get out whole sentences.  
A soft hand rested on his cheek for a moment before Combeferre held up his head and someone else put a pillow under it.

He would get the one who invented pillows a wonderful, wonderful present.

A pillow maybe.

A blanket was draped over his shoulders and he started to doze off again. The front door closed and then it was silent in the flat.

He didn’t know if he had fallen asleep in between but he heard his two friends starting to talk again after a while.

Combeferre and Enjolras’ voices sounded dull and distant.

“We can clean up tomorrow,” Combeferre said softly.

Enjolras sighed, “Yes, that’s probably better.”

“Go to bed, Enjolras. It has been a rough day.”

The other man snorted. “You can say that.”

“No one could have known he would be bold enough to show up here.”

“I could have known. I should know _him._ ”

“Stop it.”

Enjolras sighed but didn’t object. “Alright. I know I should. I am just worried about Jehan.”

“Jehan is tougher than he looks like.”

“I know, Ferre. I know.”

“Then stop worrying.”

“It’s just… if he shows up here he has to be up to something.”

“Or he’s just playing psychic tricks on us because he’s a manipulative asshole. If he’s up to something we’ll be ready for it. We’ll be cautious.”

There was a pause. A long pause and he already thought he had been dreaming when Enjolras whispered, “Do you sometimes think we should have told him? Back then?”

“No, I don’t,” Combeferre said soft yet without any space for doubt, “it was the wrong time and would have made it only more difficult for him. That doesn’t mean he’s not important to us. Don’t ever think that. It was the right thing to do and you know I wouldn’t say that if I wasn’t hundred percent convinced.”

“And what about now?”

“Now we have to see if it’s going to be necessary.”

They were talking so seriously like someone died. Hopefully no one had died. People on funerals were always so sad. People on funerals made him sad and Courfeyrac really didn’t like to be sad.

“Go to bed, Enjolras,” Combeferre insisted again.

“Alright, goodnight Ferre.”

“Goodnight.”

He could hear a closing door. The following silence was only broken by the other man’s heavy sigh. There were steps that came closer and Courfeyrac felt how the blanket was tugged up under his chin, a hand ran softly through his hair. Combeferre placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and he finally slept in, a smile on his lips.

 

***

 

When Courfeyrac woke up the next morning his head hurt like hell and he couldn’t remember anything of the conversation.

 

***

 


	11. Chapter 11: Grantaire

Grantaire really liked Feuilly.

It was most likely that everyone liked Feuilly because he was everything a pleasant person should be. Friendly, decent, intelligent, talented, silent when he felt like one needed space and funny and witty in a casual conversations.

In this moment he didn’t say a word and Grantaire was grateful for that.

Instead the red-haired man focused on the canvas in front of him and created an admirable mix of colours and shapes that was truly stunning while Grantaire stared at his finished work and hated himself.

 

He had learned to switch off his brain when he painted. He just let his hands move and they seemed to know how to temper the colours and where to set the strokes of the brushes and in the end the canvas was filled with a picture his mind had come up with when he had no control over it. A lot of professors said it was amazing how he did that and true creativity could only come from the subconscious and blah, blah, blah but he would call it more of a horrible idea.

If he was thinking while painting he wouldn’t have to look at the back of a man now, in gold and white, standing on top of a dark mountain formed of vaguely shaped bodies surrounded by a vibrant red background that was crossed by lines of light and darkness.

The halo of golden curls was definitely familiar.

 

Stupid, shallow subconscious.

 

He cursed under his breath what distracted Feuilly and for a brief moment his slate eyes flickered to Grantaire’s painting, than back and this time they widened and he put down his own brush.

“Holy shit, R. that’s amazing.”

Okay, maybe he didn’t always say the right thing.

Grantaire only snorted and leaned back to relax his tensed muscles.

Feuilly had stood up and stepped behind him to get a better view.

“That’s really, really amazing.”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, closed his eyes and covered his face with a hand. When he opened his eyes again the painting was still there.

“Nothing?” the other man repeated disbelievingly, “alright, if you think that this is nothing I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You know what, man? You are very, _very_ confusing,” Feuilly laughed and clapped his back before he sat down again.

Grantaire sighed heavily.

“All I need is a fucking break.”

He felt terrible for admitting it but he just needed to get away for some days. Out of town. Away from Cosette’s adorableness and happiness that was glued to her mood like Marius Pontmercy to her hand. Away from Éponine and everyone else who tried to convince him daily that Enjolras wasn’t that much of a bad guy, that he just wasn’t the best when it came to interpersonal communication with people he didn’t know and he _especially_  had to get away from the city wherein every time he saw someone with only a simple familiarity to said man caused the urge to punch something or drown his disdain for the world and people in general in a bottle of cheap beer.

It had been going on like this for quite a while now. He had only seen Enjolras twice in the last month but every time it had ended in a short conversation that made him almost loose his temper because Enjolras was _nice_ and obviously capable of being  _charming_ and the pretentiousness only made him more angry since he had heard Montparnasse’s story. The other man was staying at some friend’s place in London and they’d met once after the party. He was handsome and charming as well and Grantaire was pretty sure there had been some interest from the other man’s side but somehow he didn’t feel anything more but he wasn’t really sad about it. Flower boy who had picket him up had seemed much more delighted.

He hadn’t told anyone of Parnasse’s story what still didn’t keep him from having no friendly feelings at all for Enjolras. But he couldn’t help being captured by his beauty and elegance and fierceness and so he hated himself even more than the other man.

 

He just _needed_ a couple days off.

 

“Did you plan something for spring break?” Feuilly asked.

Spring break was in a little less than two weeks that were full of stress and commissions and stuff but after that there would be time to leave the city for a week or so. Only that his options were limited since he was a constantly broke art student. He could always visit his parents on the country side but he would even choose a trip to hell over that.

“No, not really,” he answered flatly and collected his brushes.

“I’m visiting a friend in Hampshire ,” Feuilly said, “if you have nothing else to and want to take off a couple of days I’m sure you could come too.”

The offer was temping, a friend of Feuilly couldn’t be a bad guy but he didn’t need pity.

“That’s kind of you but I wouldn’t want to be intrusive.”

The other man laughed and shook his head. “Believe me, you wouldn’t be. Bahorels’ parents are somewhere in south Asia and he hates to be alone. I’m sure he’d be totally cool with it.”

“Thanks but…”

“R, have you looked into the mirror lately?”

“What is that suppose to mean?”

“Just that you should really go on vacation or something because you look like shit, dude.”

Grantaire was well aware of the dark shadows under his eyes and the almost constant ache in the back of his head. He laughed a little bit desperate.

“You’re so charming.”

Feuilly threw a cloth at him.

“Charming is for the people who can’t stand the truth,” he grinned then added, “Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

They fell into silence again, Feuilly returned to his own canvas while Grantaire continued staring at his painting for what felt like a minute but probably had been only ten until he couldn’t take it anymore and stood up to gather together his art supplies.

“Alright, I’m off for today.”

The other man glanced over at his painting once more but didn’t say anything again – and oh, _that_ was the reason why he liked Feuilly – before he turned back.

“Sure, man. And really, if you want to come give me a call or something. I’m going to head off next Friday.”

“Sure, I will,” he simply said before he left.

The air was still cold but it smelled like spring when he walked out of the building, the sun shone from a light blue sky through feathers of clouds. He took a deep breath that made his head a little bit clearer.

A ringing came from the depths of his pocket and he reached down to fish the phone out of his pocket.

When he answered Éponine didn’t even gave him the chance to say anything.

“Hey R, you done with your art thing?”

“Yes, I just finished my _art thing,_ thank you very much.”

“Awesome, do you have a moment for me?”

“Sure, I was just about to grab a…”

“Great,” she interrupted. “See you in fifteen minutes?”

“Okay.” He didn’t get another answer because she had already hung up. He shook his head but smiled down at his phone before he started walking, hands in the pockets of his coat.

  
***

 

There was a small café not very far from the studio where he had been with Feuilly. He would be faster by taking the underground but the weather was too good for the sticky aisles and crowds at that point of the day so he preferred a walk.

He still arrived earlier than Éponine and he had just sat down at one of the small tables in a comfortable corner further away from the door when a moment later a young woman took the seat next to him.

He had to do a double-take.

“Wow... you look awesome!”

Éponine smiled a little and ran a hand through her hair that didn’t reach her waist anymore but was cut so short that the endings traced her jaw line and a thick fringe fell into her face, almost covering her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I needed a change.”

She never said it but seeing Marius with Cosette had been hard for her. They had never mentioned it like an unspoken agreement between them, but Grantaire had known it all along. And it was a reason why he admired her even more.  She gave away her own happiness because she didn’t want others to suffer.

“It’s great,” he insisted again, “Very…jazzy.”

She rolled her eyes but grinned. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Mhh, let me think about that for a moment.”

“Idiot.”

“Yeah, definitely a compliment.”

 

They ordered and Éponine took a sip of her chai latte before she said, “I come with orders from Courfeyrac.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Orders from Courfeyrac?”

The dark-haired man had crossed Grantaire’s way too often for him to still believe in coincidences.

That and the fact that he sometimes showed up when he just came from a lecture, sometimes even with hot chocolate.

He had nothing to complain about, hot chocolate was a blessing when it was still cold outside and the guy might have been a little bit crazy but definitely nice to be around. He had something naturally charming that wasn’t acted and a warm smile that had to be fixed to his expression. He always seemed to genuinely care about what others had to say and listened as if they were the most important persons in the world in that moment.

Grantaire definitely liked him – what made him wonder why that man was friends with Enjolras again just like Marius or Éponine or Combeferre and even Cosette seemed to have found a liking on him – even though he sometimes smiled a little bit too much about his never fading enthusiasm even about the littlest things. He was sure that Courfeyrac would be able to talk almost everyone into being exited about the most ridiculous or most incredible thing with enough time and endurance. There was only one thing he hadn’t convinced Grantaire to be excited about.

“He’s throwing a party.”

Definitely that.

“Right,” he stretched the word and nodded slowly.

“Oh stop, I can see the “no” written all over your face. Give the man a chance.”

He was about to ask if they were still talking about Courfeyrac but he bit down the comment and sighed. “I’m not that type of a party guy.”

“I know, you’re more like the “go to a shady bar and get drunk on cheap beer” party type,” Éponine said and well, she was not totally wrong with that.

“There’s nothing wrong with being that kind of a party type.”

“No. It’s just lonely and those bars stink. Come on R, it’s an end of the term party. Even I’ll probably go.”

“End of the term party?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be next Friday, when everyone’s done with the exams.”

“Sorry, I can’t come,” he said too quickly and without much thinking.

Éponine frowned. “You can’t or you don’t want to?”

“No, I really can’t. I am… ehm… I’m taking a couple of days off, a friend invited me to go to Hampshire  with him to another friend and we wanted to leave on Friday.”

He tried to convince himself that it was a good idea. It was a great idea. It couldn’t be that bad and it was definitely better than one of Courfeyracs’ parties where he would probably run into Enjolras and he really didn’t want to start his break like that.

“Hampshire ,” Éponine repeated sceptically but then she shrugged and half of a smile spread over her face, “You don’t strike me as a Hampshire  kind of guy.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

Her smile widened. “Certainly not.”

“I know what sarcasm looks like.”

“Of course you do. As often as you see it in the mirror.”

 

He rolled his eyes but even the tea cup he raised couldn’t hide his grin.

 

***


	12. Chapter 12: Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Enjolras is woken up by a phone call (or more precisely by Courfeyrac but his phone is ringing anyway).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry that today’s chapter is a little bit shorter than normal but I’m very stressed because of school and stuff at the moment and I wanted to give you all at least something. ;) I will try to upload the following chapters regularly but I have to admit I can’t promise anything, I don’t really know how well I can handle the next month, so sorry in advance if some chapters take longer than normal. I won’t forget about you and my favourite dorks here. ;) 
> 
> (Bahorel is my big boy and I love him)

***

 

 

“Wakey wakey, princess,” Courfeyrac purred in his ear and Enjolras snapped awake, almost falling off the sofa. The blanket draped over his shoulder slid to the ground while his sleepy thoughts hastily tried to put his surroundings, time and place in order.

 

The other man grinned at him, his hair sticking into every direction like he had only just stood up himself. He had a bowl with chocolate chips in his hand and was still in his pyjama even though it should be past lunch time, at least from the way the sun shone through the windows.

He didn’t remember falling asleep and especially he shouldn’t have slept that long, his mind distantly provided that this was a disaster, he had work to do, but he wasn’t awake enough to worry about that already.

 

“You’re phone is ringing,” Courfeyrac said with a nod at the coffee table that was overloaded with several layers of papers, books, empty coffee cups and Enjolras’ laptop somewhere in between.

“Did you move in here?” he murmured while he tried to find his ringing cell.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Nah, Marius had Cosette over and I didn’t want to be around, if you know what I mean?”

“No.”                                                                                                                    

“That was actually a rhetorical question.”

Enjolras frowned and Courfeyrac let out an exaggerated sigh. “You know Enjolras, just because you and Ferre live in some kind of celibate flat share doesn’t mean other people don’t have sex. They do. And I don’t need to be around because Marius can be pretty loud when…”

“Stop, stop, stop!” he interrupted, “I really _don’t_ want to know that. And I really don’t want to know how _you_ know that. I’m not awake enough for this. I shouldn’t even have slept, I have work to do. Where is this goddamn phone?”

Finally he found it between a copy of the Social Contract and his notes from one of the last

lectures and answered without bothering to look who was calling.

  
“Hello?”

 

“ _Whoa, easy there. I’m innocent your honour,_ ” a familiar voice said mockingly at his annoyed intonation, stifling with laughter.

Enjolras relaxed and sat back down on the sofa. “Hey, Bahorel.”

Combeferre came into the living room, in comparison to Courfeyrac already neatly dressed in beige khakis, white shirt and blue patterned slipover, a mug in his hands and really, _what time was it?_

“Sorry, I was asleep. I just woke up.”

“ _Yeah sorry about that,, when I called earlier Ferre said you’ll approximately wake up in 4 hours, his words not mine._ ”

Enjolras’ eyes darted to Combeferre, the pretentious bastard, who innocently sat down in the armchair, nonchalantly taking a sip of his tea.

“Did you put sleeping pills in my coffee again?” he asked disbelievingly.

Combeferre’s face was a mask when he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Courfeyrac barely contained his laughter; Bahorel at the other end of the phone didn’t even try. “ _You don’t know how much I sometimes fucking miss your stupid faces, you idiots,_ ” the other man said, his grin could be heard through his voice.

Enjolras had to smile at that as well. “Careful Bahorel, you’re getting sentimental.”

He laughed again and Courfeyrac stood up to flop down onto the sofa next to Enjolras and crooned into the phone, “Aww, does our big boy misses us?”

“ _You’d wish that_ ,” came the response for Courfeyrac before he addressed Enjolras again, “ _Hey, man I just wanted to know if you’re coming down in your break?_ ”

 

Courfeyrac leaned back, happily continuing to eat his cereal while Enjolras sighed.  
“I don’t know yet,” he answered since he hadn’t even thought about what to do in the short break that was just ahead, he was still covered in work that came from who knew where.

He could ask professor Lamarque if he had anything to do for him, or he could always visit his parents and leave the city for a couple of days but he’d rather not.

His mother had already made him promise to come for her birthday in June. He didn’t know what had possessed him to say yes, a weak moment probably. While his father worked mostly from London, his mother still lived in their house in Hampshire where he had grown up until they had sent him to the tones of different boarding schools. Bahorel had moved to the area with his parents when Enjolras was fifteen, they’d always met in the breaks when he had been coming home for holidays and it had been by far the most pleasant part of his stays, especially when he actually didn’t like going home where Combeferre and Courfeyrac weren’t around since they visited their own families.

Bahorel had been with them in London for a few years then, trying out studying _that_ _law thing_ – his words, not Enjolras’ – even though the word trying should be emphasized more then the actual studying. In the end he had moved back in with his parents a year ago, they were travelling most of the time anyway.

 

“ _That’s not a no,_ ” Bahorel stated, “ _you know my parents are somewhere in Asia, city with chai or bing or something like that…_ ”

“Very concrete.”

“ _Not everyone went to some posh school in whatever-shire,_ ” he interrupted him cheerfully, “ _that’s not even the point. Point is a friend of mine’s coming, with another one, and he really has this social justice thing going on you know, so you two would totally get along like fucking fantastic.”_

“Are you trying to set me up, Bahorel?” Enjolras heard himself asking incredulously and Courfeyrac choked on his cereals.

“ _Courf still didn’t manage that?_ ” the other man chuckled then added, “ _No dude, I’m just an old friend missing good ole times._ ”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and sighed so Bahorel could hear it while he tried to keep Courfeyrac from taking the phone from his hand.

“I probably have a lot of work to do,” he answered and now Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, Combeferre was silent as ever just watching him over the rims of his thick-framed glasses.

“ _That’s a shame, man. You’d have loved Feuilly and that Grantaire guy he’s bringing can’t be that bad if he’s his bro but alright, a man knows when it’s time to…_ ”

Enjolras stiffened; he had to have misheard that.

“What did you say?” he interrupted Bahorel mid-sentence.

“ _A man knows when he lost a fight?"_

“No, before that.”

“ _You would have loved Feuilly?_ ”

“No, between that.”

“ _Uhm, that Grantaire guy he’s bringing can’t be that bad?”_ he tried again and Enjolras wanted to laugh hysterically because he couldn’t have misheard that a second time.

 _“ I mean I don’t know him,”_ Bahorel continued, _“but from what Feuilly says he sounds hella rad. They do … art stuff together._ ”

Enjolras hoped he carried it off well when he said, “That’s nice. Where did you meet him?”

When Bahorel started the story with, “ _Well, that one time I was totally drunk…,_ ” he tried to go back to breathing normally; avoiding Combeferre’s gaze that he could practically feel on his face and ordered his thoughts.

 

In the last months there had been moments which had made Enjolras feel like the safe and sorted world around him was crumbling but it had took him some time to figure out that it wasn’t falling apart, it was more like the walls around him melted slowly from a whole new experience which build up a warmth inside him like the spring that crept out of the corners with silent green and soft sunshine through grey clouds of rain. And he knew that those feelings he got to know where just as late as the end of the winter this year since he had never felt anything like this before, just heard about them from his friends and read about them in books. It all came down to a man he had only met a few times and even though the first time had been a disaster, now Enjolras couldn’t deny that Grantaire was fascinating him in a different way than anybody else with his sharp words that were full of cynicism and bitterness but also profound and versatile so that he often spend hours thinking about them and the dark haired man with his blue and green eyes that were as beautiful as cold so that every time they were fixed on Enjolras a shiver ran down his spine and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

In contrary to popular belief Enjolras _did have a heart_ and he did know that it was more than just a muscle keeping him alive and he had experienced how it felt when it was beating faster than normally. He was well aware that the other man had something he couldn’t flinch from, something too fascinating, intoxicating, infuriating to let go. He wanted to know him better, know more, and look behind the confusing cover of the book that was Grantaire, read in his pages to see and learn and understand.

 

“ _… and that is basically all I remember,_ ” Bahorel finished his story.

“You know,” Enjolras said, “I really hope he’ll remember more when he tells me about it.”

Bahorel stopped for a moment on the other end of the phone. Then he burst out, “ _Does that mean you’re coming?_ ” and the happiness and excitement that could be heard in his voice made Enjolras smile as he assured, “Yes, I’ll come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was it, next chapter will be up as soon as I can. ;)


	13. Chapter 13: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein somewhere in Whatever-shire Grantaire’s plan doesn’t really work out. Enjolras’ does. Well, not really, but at least better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don’t know yet: Feuilly is – of course – the most important character of this story. Feuilly is – of course – the most important character of every story. Every story ever.

***

 

“And that’s basically all I remember,” Bahorel ended cheerfully, grinning at Grantaire while paying dangerously few attention to the road before him but didn’t seem to care even the slightest.

“And that traffic light was red,” Feuilly deadpanned.

The broad man shrugged. “People here are either too old to see anything or drive like snails,” he justified himself with a grin. Grantaire could see Feuilly rolling his eyes in the rear-view mirror. They continued bickering like an old married couple what made Grantaire smile throughout the entire drive.

  
It was an unusually sunny day, fitting his equally unusual good mood. The clouds had lifted from the sky like the feeling of weight on his shoulders when he had left London by train with Feuilly in the early afternoon. Bahorel had picked them up from the train station nearly crushing Grantaire in a cordial hug he hadn’t expected and therefore almost fell to the ground.

The houses they passed now were huge in green gardens, sometimes visible through hedges and trees, behind fences or walls, driveways shimmering through the green of spring.

 

Bahorel parked his car – an old blue Opel that looked close to collapsing - in front of a “smaller” house, one without a huge gate or alley but a beautiful dooryard, tidy and already colourful it had been taken right from a storybook.

The tall man with broad shoulder, ripped jeans, tattoos crawling out under the fabric of his pullover and long brownish dread locks didn’t really fit in the picturesque image but seem completely content.

“So, mi casa and whatever,” he declared with a sweeping gesture, smile never leaving his face.

“Did you forget to lawn mown?” Feuilly asked at the same time as Grantaire said, “It looks really nice.”

Bahorel choose to ignore the red-haired man and grinned at Grantaire. “It’s a cabin next to some of the castles around here,” he stated with a shrug when he fished the keys out of his pocket, “Friend of mine had like ten bathrooms and stuff. Hated it like hell.”

“Likeable,” Feuilly commented what made the other man grin even wider.             

 

Bahorel at first showed them their rooms. Grantaire was staying in a small guest room with brightly painted walls and lovely curtains, dried flowers and a wooden wardrobe. Feuilly was going to sleep in the room of the oldest of Bahorels’ little sisters – four in number – who had already moved out. The others were on vacation with his parents to a place he had forgotten the name of, even though the sixteen year old one had obviously protested sternly. Then he gave Grantaire a tour around the house, always a smile tugging up his lips, telling short funny stories about cracks in the walls or stains on carpet and he found himself taking a liking in the other man with his welcoming personality and silly jokes that sometimes where replaced by surprising eloquence.

He was loud and cheerful and absolutely hilarious.            

 

“So, I’m a good host,” Bahorel said after a while, “I guess you’re hungry. Let’s order pizza!”

Before Grantaire could say anything else the other man was hit by Feuilly’s icy stare.

“Only over my dead body,” he simply said and turned on his heels to the kitchen.

Bahorel grinned and playfully boxed Grantaire’s shoulder what probably was supposed to be a friendly gesture but he almost tumbled forwards. The other man didn’t seem to care and whispered conspiratorially, “Watch what happens,” before shoving Grantaire to the kitchen as well.

Feuilly then wordlessly began to make art with knives and bowls and tomatoes. Bahorel took place on the kitchen counter, smugness written all over his face and all Grantaire could do was laugh because he was feeling great and light and happy.

He had at least the decency to ask the red haired man if he could help him so he ended up cutting mushrooms in half.

A few minutes in Bahorel’s phone started ringing with the tune of Abba’s _Dancing Queen._

Grantaire stopped in his tracks while Feuillys’ eyes widened almost comically before he suddenly broke out into breathless giggles, his auburn ringlets hoping up and down while he was shaken by laughter.

Grantaire tried very hard not to join but couldn’t help it when Bahorel flipped the other man off and said, “It’s a classic okay?”

Feuilly already had tears in his eyes when the broad man in his twenties, pouting and defending Abba of all, fished his phone out of his pocket.

“Yo?”

The red-haired man temporally disappeared behind the kitchen counter, gasping for air while Grantaire tried to cough instead of laughing but failed miserably.

 

Bahorel threw him and the kitchen counter a withering look before leaving the kitchen phone on his ear saying, “Yeah sure man, come over. Cool.”

 

Feuilly eventually calmed down, shaking his head disbelievingly. “God, he’s so pretentious,” he grinned, breathing normal again.

Grantaire had to smile too. “He’s awesome.”

“Yeah, he’s really the best possible fellow.”

The other man then continued cutting tomatoes in half ands and quarters with the precision of a sous-chef.

“Hey Feuilly?”

“Mhh?”

“Thanks.”

He looked up, dark grey eyes gentle and warm, and smiled.

“You’re welcome R.”

 

Bahorel returned to the kitchen, triumphantly waving the hand with the phone.

“Guys, we’re going to have guests!”

Feuilly threw a sceptical look at the amount of tomatoes he had already prepared.

“Okay, okay. One guest,” Bahorel clarified, “and basically not a guest because he’s family, well, not really, he’s a good friend of mine, not that kind of friend. He’s single,” he added with a wink leaving Grantaire a little bit thrown off.

The other man just shrugged. “Does the story of how you met starts with _This one time I was drunk in a bar fight?_ ”

Bahorel rolled his eyes. “Nooo,” he emphasized, “He grew up around here too. Well, not really because his parents kind of suck and sent him to a bunch of boarding schools but then we went to uni together, well, _theoretically,_ ” he admitted and turned to Grantaire, “wasn’t really my thing. Never a lawyer. Ever.”

Feuilly snorted but the other man ignored him pointy. “Anyway, he’s a great guy. He was hell of privileged and I know that’s much better than a lot of people have it but he had a hard time still…,” he trailed off.

Grantaire frowned but Feuilly nodded understandingly.

“I mean,” Bahorel started again, “they didn’t mess him up for everyone else what is awesome. He can come off stiff a little bit but he’s just the best possible man you can imagine.”

“That’s high praise,” Feuilly said surprised by his seriousness but Bahorel looked like it was the most normal thing to say.

“It’s true. He doesn’t like mushrooms though.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes but grinned.

 

About twenty minutes later Feuilly was preparing the pizza dough with tomato sauce while Bahorel had already eaten half a glass of olives because every time he reached out for a piece of cheese or ham Feuilly hit his fingers with a cooking spoon or whatever was closest.

Grantaire was busy looking for ketchup in the pantry – yes, there was a walk-in pantry – when the doorbell rang.

The rumbling indicated Bahorel hoping off the kitchen counter and the sound of the opening front door a few seconds later was followed by muffled voices and a laugh. Bahorel laughed and someone else laughed. Grantaire had to smile.

It sounded nice enough.

He found a full bottle of ketchup next to three glasses with different olives – seriously what was that about? – and returned to the kitchen just as Bahorel entered, a huge grin on his face, and behind him was no one else than…

Enjolras.

He smiled and he looked painfully perfect.

 

Grantaire froze on spot.

 

Bahorel shoved the other man towards Feuilly, he introduced himself, voice smooth, softly, friendly and they shook hands while Feuilly smiled a well.

The blond man’s eyes turned to Grantaire who was still standing in passing, ketchup in one hand, the other curled tightly around the door handle. The blue of the other mans’ eyes was like a bucket of cold water emptied over his head that made him snap out of his motionlessness.

He walked to the counter and nodded shortly.

“Enjolras.”

He smiled. “Grantaire.”

Bahorels’ eyebrows rose. “You two know each other?”

“Briefly,” Grantaire said.

“Not that briefly,” Enjolras said.

 

“Neat!” Bahorel called out and grinned excitedly.

 

Grantaire blinked but couldn’t help to shake his head with a maybe desperate smile when he tried to shove the thoughts of _why and what did I do to deserve this_ away.

Feuilly – did he mention he really liked Feuilly – turned to Enjolras again what made those blue eyes leave his eventually.

“We’re making pizza; I really hope you’re hungry.”

“Sure. Can I help somehow?”

And then Grantaire was given the image of two young men who couldn’t seem more different on the first glance topping pizza together like on the birthday party of a sixteen year old teenage girl. Feuilly, in a knitted sweater and ratty jeans, freckles and beard stubble covering his still slightly worn face from the efforts of the latest days that still looked soft with the expression of his eyes and the line of his mouth, talented fingers working quick and steadily next to Enjolras in a classy white button up, blond curls falling in his pale face who seemed a little clumsy but obviously eager to make himself useful somehow, his lips curled up in a smile. Feuilly somehow managed to subtly engage him in a conversation about his father’s business and his opinion on it while the other man listened enthralled when Feuilly answered his question of where he learned to cook so well.

 

Grantaire didn’t really listen, didn’t even pretend to.

He tried to think about the weather or the herbs in jars in the kitchen cupboards and _not_ about the fact that the universe obviously had a plan that involved Enjolras and turning him crazy eventually.

 

A clonk next to him made him snap out of those thoughts and look at Bahorel who had sat a full beer bottle onto the counter next to Grantaire.

“World’s a small place, eh?” he grinned.

“Yeah,” he agreed simply and took a big gulp of the beer, “You could say that.”

The other man raised an eyebrow. “How did you two meet?”

For some reason – maybe because he was a little bit thrown off the track by how his actual plan had totally backfired, maybe because it still didn’t feel that bad at all at the moment because he was with Bahorel who was great and Feuilly who was great – he only took another sip and laughed.  
“Actually, I was drunk.”

The other man grinned. “Tell me more.”

“There was champagne involved.”

“Champagne, you have my attention.”

“And dancing. Well, not really though.”

“Because Enjolras can’t dance,” Bahorel shook his head, his smile had widened all along. Grantaire didn’t make the effort to state the actual story because the blond man stopped his conversation with Feuilly for a moment.

“Hey. I just do not like dancing. That is a difference.”

His eyes darted to Grantaire for the brief of a second.

“Nah, you suck,” the broad man laughed and clapped Enjolras’ back. He shook his head, blonde curls dancing with the movement, and rolled his eyes but didn’t protest any further except for a silent mumbling no one could understand.

“He can’t sing anything either. That one karaoke-night was a disaster:”

“Don’t you think it is enough? Or should I tell them about the incident with the cheesecake?”

Bahorel paled.

“What’s the incident with the cheesecake?” Feuilly asked.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” the other man insisted sternly. Enjolras smiled and it made him look about five years younger. Grantaire watched him silently, starting to become confused more and more and had absolutely no idea what to make of this.

 

“He was drunk,” Enjolras started and Feuilly laughed loudly while Bahorel buried his face behind his hands and groaned.

 

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about this, as I said, I'm just stressed lately. Thanks for your understanding. <3  
> Recently - it took me ages - I discovered my personal perfect [Feuilly face claim](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/post/103219268104/modern-au-les-miserables-5-14-jeff-kellerman-as). Really. I am hundred percent pleased. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up as soon as I can. Until then I wish you all a happy pre-christmas time! ( I love Christmas. I'm a person whose Christmas starts in November.)


	14. Chapter 14: Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Combeferre has news and Enjolras is just really, really nervous because of such common things as feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually I planned to make this a Combeferre-chapter and I tried and tried but it just didn’t work out so I started over. It still explains what happened off-screen. One of the next chapters will be a Courferre one again.  
> Sorry for mistakes and stuff, call it artistic freedom or just my missing knowledge of English sometimes. 
> 
> Oh, and of course Feuilly is the greatest. Did I mention that?

 

 

***

 

“ _Hey Enjolras_.”

“I don’t even ask how you know it’s me, Ferre.”

“ _You know, just because you refuse to buy a cell phone from this decade doesn’t mean others don’t have caller ID,_ ” the man at the other end of the line deadpanned.

Enjolras immediately noticed he sounded incredibly tired.

“Is everything okay?”

“ _I thought you called me to talk about something._ ”

“Actually I did,” Enjolras admitted but his friend’s voice sounded off, not as calm and soothing as always. People might think that Enjolras wasn’t the most considerate when it came to comforting or reassuring or just realizing the feelings of the ones around him but he had known Combeferre for quite a while now and maybe he still was a quiet, slightly sarcastic mystery sometimes, he knew when something wasn’t alright.

As well he couldn’t actually risk talking to a distracted or concerned Combeferre when he was having a little crisis on his own.

“I can tell you later. So what’s wrong?”

He could hear a heavy sigh.

“ _It’s alright, don’t worry. I can handle it._ ”

“Combeferre,” he said slowly, asking.

Another sigh.

“ _It’s just…Courf._ ”

 Enjolras frowned even though the other man couldn’t see it. He could probably feel it anyway because he almost immediately started to play it down but Enjolras interrupted him.

“What happened? Did you tell him about…,” he trailed off unsure if he should spell out the unspoken “your feelings” because they hadn’t actually talked about it. 7

 

Again, Enjolras wasn’t completely oblivious.

At least concerning his friends.

Alright, maybe they had just been really, really obvious. 

He was living with Combeferre after all. 7

 

“ _About Parnasse?_ ” his friend ended the question and this was so far from what Enjolras had thought of that he could only react with a confused “Ehm” but Combeferre didn’t seem to hear him because he continued, “ _I haven’t but I’m not sure anymore if that is the best to do in the current situation._ ” The last word was punctuated with another sigh.

“What is the current situation?”

“ _I…,_ ” Combeferre hesitated, “ _I thought he would be leaving soon again because Jehan mentioned it a couple of weeks ago and I stopped worrying because I foolishly believed that maybe it had just been a coincidence he showed up and over the exams I didn’t heard anyone talking about him again so I just really thought it could be true._ ”

“But it wasn’t?” Enjolras asked. He had been thinking something similar, had been too stressed and not willing to think about Montparnasse in the last weeks. And he usually was a person who made others talking about him so if no one did it mostly meant he would be somewhere else already.

“ _No, it wasn’t,_ ” Combeferre confirmed, “ _It turned out Courf decided Jehan and him would make a lovely pair and well…_ ”

“He didn’t.”

“ _He did. He obviously encouraged Jehan to go for it and Parnasse is happily staying at his place again. He came back two days ago._ ”

Enjolras breathed in.

  
One, two, three.

 

He breathed out.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“ _But I could have noticed but of course I have had to be otherwise occupied._ ”

“That’s not your fault. I should have told him right from the start.”

“ _No,_ ” Combeferre immediately stopped the thoughts of regret firmly, “ _It was the right thing to do back then, you know that._ ”

He did know. They had talked about it over and over again.

“ _But I start to think he should know now._ ”

Enjolras was silent for a moment. Then he nodded until he realized that Combeferre couldn’t see him. “And I think you’re right.”

“ _Enjolras?_ ”

“Yes?”

“ _Could I tell him?_ ” he almost sounded afraid to ask the question. “ _He didn’t know and he only wanted to do something good, like always and I didn’t actually react very sensitive._ ”

The underlying pain and guilt in his voice made Enjolras regret that they were having this conversation on the phone so he tried to sound as gentle and at the same time convincing when he said, “Of course.”

“ _Thank you._ ”

“Tell him, I’ll talk to him when I come back as well.”

“ _You probably won’t get around that,_ ” Combeferre answered and there was at least a little bit lightness back in his voice that made Enjolras feel relieved and relaxed immediately. That was until the other man mischievously asked, “ _So, how’s your vacation so far?_ ” as if nothing had happened.

Oh damn, he totally knew.

He could hear it in his voice, he totally had to know.

That was a good thing right? That had been the reason for his call after all; he needed a convincing, on-point Combeferre-advice.

Still he only said, “Good so far.”

“ _Just good?_ ”

“Grantaire is here,” he eventually broke down the news. Or not news because Combeferre somehow didn’t sound surprised at all.

“ _Really?_ ”

The word practically was dripping from irony.

Enjolras rolled his eyes but only sighed, “How did you know?”

He could here Combeferre’s quiet laugh. “ _I just figured that you would have never give up some days you could also spend helping Lamarque and in which you could actually have time for some more meetings again just to hop on the next train to leave the city. I mean, I really miss Bahorel too but it’s not like he’s not coming over at least three or four times a month, and sorry, but you visiting your parents voluntarily– not convincing. So there had to be a really good reason._ ”

“It’s really a good reason,” Enjolras admitted hesitantly.

He could almost feel his friend’s smile through the phone. “ _Tell me more._ ”

Enjolras let out a short laugh.

He had been over at Bahorel’s for the last four evenings in a row.

His mother hadn’t even protested, his father had left after the first “little disagreement” on the second evening because _something important_ had come up. At least he has had enough decency to look guilty but Enjolras hadn’t bought this apology anymore since he had been eight. He had missed Bahorel even though he was still seeing him regularly in London but it was great to see him.

And his friend – he wasn’t quite sure if there might be a little bit more to that – Feuilly was by far the most inspiring person Enjolras had ever met.

He was just about 24 and had been in six countries as development aid volunteer, he had been raised in an orphanage and taught himself everything starting with nothing and was currently working two jobs while studying and helping out in a soup kitchen. And besides all that he was the kind and considerate and caring.

A lot of people said that there biggest idol would be some historically significant person fighting for freedom and justice. From now on Enjolras, whenever someone would ask him how he wanted to be, would say “like Feuilly” because that was exactly how everyone _should_ be to make the world a better place. He was sure that all of his friends in London would love the humble, talented, red-haired man he absolutely planned on introducing to everyone.

 

And then there was Grantaire.

 

“You have no idea, Ferre. He’s so smart and well-read, it’s amazing. His views might be questionable but you should hear him talking, it’s incredible. Just yesterday we’ve been discussing the matter of the practical realisation of socialism nowadays and I can’t rewrite my thesis anymore because I already handed it in but he made me realize so many things I haven’t even considered until that point.”

It was really quiet for a moment until Combeferre asked, “ _So is this just an appreciation of his intelligence or…_ ”

“It isn’t,” Enjolras disagreed slowly, “I think I might be… I mean there’s a possibility that I…”

“ _I see,_ ” Combeferre only said and Enjolras silently thanked him. “ _Have you figured out what to do yet?_ ”

“No, I haven’t. That was actually the reason I called you. I’m not sure what to do, I mean, what do people do?”

Combeferre explained with a very serious voice, “ _Well Enjolras, when_ people _like someone they usually ask them out._ ”

Enjolras snorted and the other man seemed to stifle a laugh.

“But what if he says no?” he asked and forwent the objection that Combeferre could have done this months if not even years ago.

His friend still seemed to know what he was thinking because he answered, “ _You’ll never know if you don’t ask. But if he says no you’ll be leaving in two days anyway, and you won’t have to see him again if you don’t want to, am I right?_ ”

Of course he was right.

“Of course you’re right,” he admitted stiffly.

The other man laughed. “ _Don’t think too much about it. Just do it. It doesn’t get better, only worse with time._ ”

“Thank you Ferre.”

“ _You’re welcome_.”

 

 

***

 

 

He could totally do this.

 

He could totally do this.

 

He could absolutely _not_ do this.

 

He was standing in front of Bahorel’s door and he really hadn’t thought this through. But he only had to realize that _after_ ringing the doorbell of course.

What was he supposed to do if Bahorel and Feuilly where home too? Just say, “Oh hey, it’s me _again._ Does it matter that I only left about twelve hours ago? It’s just the pizza. Totally the pizza.” They probably would be home, why shouldn’t they be.

But what if they weren’t for some miracle? He wasn’t sure if that was better, maybe for his first intention but after some consideration in the moments after his finger had left the doorbell, so when it actually was too late already, Enjolras was starting to doubt that he could actually do this let alone it was a good idea.

 

That was the exact moment Grantaire choose to open the door.

 

He seemed surprised to find Enjolras standing in front of him but only for a second.

Then he just murmured, “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Enjolras replied hastily, “I just wanted to… ehm.”

Oh god, this was a disaster.

He usually was good with words. He was great with words, he could talk do hundreds of people without blinking an eye so why was it so difficult to voice one simple thought when it was just him and Grantaire?

 

“Feuilly and Bahorel aren’t here.”

 

Thank god, he thought at the same time as he said, “Oh, I am sorry, I mean I can leave if you want me too.” He didn’t know if he actually wanted Grantaire to say yes or no at the moment. It just had been the best he had thought of a second ago.

The other man snorted and opened the door more to let him in.  
“I’m not going to throw you out of a house that’s not even mine.”

A small smile curled up the corner of his mouth but maybe he only imagined that. He hadn’t actually smiled at Enjolras once. Maybe that was a sign. This wasn’t a good idea after all.

“You want some coffee?”

Grantaire’s voice stopped his thoughts, not that there had been a lot from the start.

“Yes, thank you.”

He had followed him into the kitchen and alright, now there was embarrassing silence.

Great.

Awesome.

The sounds of the coffee machine were practically mocking him right there.

“So, Bahorel said that you actually don’t come to Hampshire very often.”

“Well, he’s right,” Enjolras answered immediately, thankful for every possibility because somehow his brain had decided not to function properly anymore, “It was kind of spontaneous this time as well.”

“Spontaneous?” Grantaire repeated raising his eyebrows sceptically so that they almost disappeared under black, unruly curls. “You don’t strike me as a spontaneous person.”

Alright, what was that supposed to mean? Was that a good thing? A bad thing?  
“Sometimes I am. I mean, sometimes I do things without… thinking.”

And well, see how that worked out so far.

Grantaire made a sound that could have been a laugh. Did he just laugh? That was good, wasn’t it?  
He turned to the coffee machine and handed Enjolras a cup and he immediately felt better since he had something to hold on now. The feeling didn’t last very long.     
Before silence could stretch again he added, “I’m glad I came here this time. I haven’t seen Bahorel in a while and he had a fortunate choice of friends.”

Okay, better. He was getting closer.

“Yeah, Feuilly is a great guy. I just think it must be annoying to have to cross such a distance every time.”

“But it’s just the way from here to London; it’s not that much of a distance.”

“I guess that’s a matter of opinion. If you have spent your life at just one place everything seems far.”

“And for you?”

Grantaire looked at him and frowned. His eyes seemed more green than blue this day, less like a sky but more like the sea. “Well, I have made it to Edinburgh once,” he eventually said, “but that’s not a story to be told.”

“Do you like Hampshire then?” Enjolras asked _very creatively_ because he just wanted Grantaire to keep talking while freaking out silently. He could still just ask him, just a simple “Hey Grantaire, would you like to go out with me some time?” It couldn’t be that hard. As Combeferre had said, people did that all the time. And Combeferre was right.

Most of the times. Not always. But most of the times.

He took a deep breath.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted him or had he actually been talking? The other man turned to look at him with ridiculously shining eyes. “I…”

“Enjolras?”

Bahorel sounded surprised when he came into the room with Feuilly in tow. What, where did they come from? That hadn’t been part of the plan – there hadn’t been a plan but no scenario he had imagined was involving Feuilly or Bahorel.

 

Oh god, what had he been thinking?

 

“Nice to see you here again,” the broad man said with a grin.

“I… I was just about to leave, I am sorry. I’ll call you.”

And then he stumbled out of the house as fast as he could and prayed he wasn’t blushing.

But who was he fooling here?

 

 

***

 

 

“What did you do to poor Enjolras?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

 

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t hear anything from me until Christmas, I wish you all a great holiday whatever and wherever you celebrate. <3


	15. Chapter 15: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein things go…wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I am far too much in need of constant harmony so I suck at writing confrontations… ANYWAY, sorry for letting you all wait so long but I can now announce that after school and holiday stress I’ll go back to posting regularly if everything works out as planned. The next chapter will already go up on Thursday and then again once a week. Yeah well, and now I’ve said enough, I wish you all a happy new year (It’s not to late for that, is it?) and hope you enjoy the chapter. 
> 
> Oh and Feuilly is great. I feel like I already mentioned that.

 

***

 

Enjolras was there again in the evening.

It felt like Grantaire was faced with a completely different man than in the morning. Enjolras was just like his usual confident, serious and slightly stiff self again helping Feuilly making spaghetti as if said morning hadn’t happened.

At all.

He didn’t mention it and didn’t let the awkwardness of the fifteen or something minutes show that Grantaire could still feel almost physically.

He just smiled a little, nodded at Grantaire when he came in and his hair was perfectly golden and flawless, not like he had just spend a good time running his hand through it like someone else who was still very much confused by the situation. His white button-up was perfectly ironed and Grantaire equally hated Enjolras and himself for still thinking that the other man was one of the most beautiful creatures walking the earth… and hell presumably. 

He was quite sure about that actually.

 

Bahorel obviously considered keeping his guests always provided with some sort of alcohol as the most important task that made a good host and as he came back to the kitchen from the pantry with his arms full of food and drinks, Grantaire automatically held out his hand for the other man to press a bottle of beer into it.

Feuillys’ admirable reflexes kept the thrown tomato from hitting his head much to Bahorel’s pouting dismay.

“Hey Enjo, when do you have to go back to London?” he asked and offered the blond man a bottle too. Enjolras acknowledged the nickname with nothing more than a poor excuse of a frown and took the beer gingerly. The frown deepened when he said, “I planned on leaving the day after tomorrow. I have to start early so I’ll be back in the city soon.”

“Serious business, eh?” Bahorel mocked with a fake accent sounding like a terribly wrong mixture of Russian and French that made Grantaire chuckle quietly behind his bottle and Enjolras roll his eyes.

Feuilly groaned and this time the tomato hit a head.

 

 

***

 

 

“I think we should just let them sleep,” Enjolras reasoned with a single blond eyebrow raised almost disappearing under golden waves of hair shining in the light of the living room lamp.

Feuilly’s head rested on Bahorel’s chest, he was snoring quietly with a dazzled, sleepy smile on his lips. The broad man’s face was buried in Feuillys’ tousled red ringlets, an arm slung around the other man’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, then grinned and pulled out his phone to take a photo. You could never have enough blackmailing material.

Enjolras laughed quietly and stood up from the armchair he had been sitting on comfortably for the better part of the evening. It was already past midnight and one, two, three beers – or maybe four or five, Grantaire really didn’t care about counting anymore – later the atmosphere in the room was much more pleasant than it would have been without alcohol in his system. Enjolras had been holding the one bottle of beer in his hand since four hours and as he took the last sip Grantaire almost pitied him because it had to taste disgusting.

 

But just almost.

 

“I should get going, it’s late,” Enjolras whispered to not wake up the men on the sofa who looked far too adorable for two snoring mid-twenties.

 

See, what Grantaire expected to happen next was simple.

He expected Enjolras to go to the door, nod a goodbye or maybe shake his hand because he had this oddly formal way of acting basically _all the time_ , then come back the next day for lunch and go back home in the afternoon since he had to be in London early for whatever reasons just as Grantaire and Feuilly were planning to do, only later the day, and then Grantaire would be able to disappear in the anonymity of the big city and avoid the other man and his perfect hair as best as possible to resist the urge to be completely shallow and ignore Enjolras pretentious, arrogant personality.

 

It shouldn’t be that difficult.

 

Everything ran smoothly for exactly seven seconds – and yes, this time he had been counting – until it didn’t.

“Alright, goodnight then,” Grantaire said, forced out a smile and stood up as well to look for a blanket for the grown-up toddlers on the sofa. Enjolras took four steps into the direction of the door before he turned around.

“I’ve struggled for too long already, I can’t do this anymore,” he began and then his bright blue eyes looked up and met Grantaires’ with such a fiery, piercing expression that he could hardly keep himself from taking a step backwards but Enjolras crossed the distance between them within the blink of an eye and got a hold of his wrist. Long, slender fingers held him back.

Grantaire’s mind started to race and find any way to get away from whatever was coming as fast as possible.

Alright, he knew that Enjolras couldn’t stand him and he was sure he knew the feeling was reciprocated but he had actually hoped no one would spell it out for the sake of their unfairly amount of mutual friends that had somehow build along the way.

 

“I am in love with you,” Enjolras said in a rush and seemed equally surprised by his words as Grantaire.

He had misheard that, right? Right?!

But Enjolras stood, straight, pursed his lips and carried on with a new steadiness in his voice that made Grantaire question Enjolras’ and his own sanity.

“You must allow me to tell you how much I admire you.”

Of everything he had expected _that_ was certainly the last.

Because… _what the hell_?

 

What.

The.

Actual.

Hell?

 

His mouth opened probably to say something, _anything_ , but all that followed was silence that – dear god – Enjolras obviously interpreted as encouragement to continue.

“I know we didn’t have the best start of all at that gala you showed up but you surprised me in the most unexpected way. You make me reconsider so many things I took for granted even with your your unfavourable social background and oportunities and I want to tell you that I, despite your dreadful, self-destructive cynism, admire and…”

“Woah,” Grantaire finally found the words to interrupt Enjolras mid speech, “Hold your horses there, would you?”

Enjolras mouth snapped shut.

His hand dropped from Grantaire’s wrist like he had been burned.

Grantaire stared back into big blue eyes and to say he didn’t understand the world anymore was an awful understatement.

But it didn’t compare to the feeling of incredulity coming from Enjolras’ words.  
And then he started to laugh and it might have sounded hysterically but this was _madness._

“Are you serious?” He realized how stupid the question was after he had said it out loud because this was – of for Christ’s sake – _Enjolras_ he was facing here, of course he was serious.

He was always serious.

The other man’s expression seemed to say exactly the same.

“Oh my god,” Grantaire breathed out and then, when he had finally figured out what he wanted to say. Alright figuring out was a bit of a positive thought.

 

“Only you.”

 

He was surprised of how much his contempt was actually replaced by consternation but Enjolras still looked like he had been slapped in the face. This time Grantaire was the one going on talking even though his voice must sound an octave or something higher. “Only _you_ would be able to pull it off to tell someone you’re in love with them in the most humiliating and hurtful way possible.”

“I…”

“No,” Grantaire stopped him before he could say more, “no, now you listen to me. Do you even know what you do to people, Enjolras?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t want to know it anyway.

“You have what so many wish for every day of their lives, you’re rich and you’re privileged and you look like a goddamn angel fallen from heaven and I feel just ridiculous for saying that because you probably hear that every single day of your life. And all you have to do is smile and pretend to be charming for people to give you everything you want and you know what?” Grantaire realized his voice had been hovering at the edge of desperate and he took a deep breath to clear his head. “If you had just gone for it, I would have probably not even been able to say no.”

The beat of silence stretched into seconds.

Enjolras’ eyes were like an endless sea of blue and he was drowning.

Deeper and deeper. Drowning must be a quiet death, pushed down by waves of water and silence.

 “I actually have to thank you,” Grantaire eventually said, “For reminding of all the reasons why I shouldn’t.”

Enjolras stared at him for another blink of a second before he shook his head, very slightly, golden hair shaken by the movement. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

 

Oh. Alright.

Screw calmness.

 

“You didn’t mean to be disrespectful?” Grantaire repeated disbelievingly, “Basically you said right into my face that I should be grateful that you fell in love with me _despite_ my cynicism and _despite_ my family, you actually know nothing of if I might remind you, and my background, whatever that even means, and _despite_ everything I am.”

“That’s not what I wanted to…”

“What did you not want?” he interrupted him, ignoring the confusion on Enjolras’ face, “To make me feel like I actually doesn’t deserve you? What else did you not want? Look at everyone who isn’t like you, like they’re nothing? Make someone like Montparnasse loose everything he had just because you couldn’t bear someone would treat him and you like equals?”

And suddenly Enjolras’ confused expression changed into anger from one second to another.

“What the fuck has Parnasse to do with that?”

So know he cursed, fantastic.

“Well, it just shows me again that my mind about you was made up a long time before today. How can you justify your behaviour towards him? Wasn’t that what you wanted as well?”

“You seem to take an eager interest in Montparnasses’ concerns,” the other man noted in a less qualm tone, red blossoming on his cheeks.

“How could I not that I know about his misfortune?”

“His misfortune? Oh his misfortune has been great indeed,” Enjolras said sarcastically.

“Thanks to your involvement!” Grantaire continued and didn’t even mind that he raised his voice and Feuilly and Bahorel could wake up every second, he was so past caring. “You have reduced him to a man who is left with nothing but the broken promise of a good and safe future that never even started and all you do now is mock him.”

 

Enjolras stood still. Not moving, an expression of eventual resignation in his eyes.

“And this is you opinion of me,” he then said, “This is the estimation in which you hold me. Why thank you, I see now that my only mistake obviously was to choose the wrong words that might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my confession.”

“My pride?” Grantaire repeated bitterly, “I won’t apologize that what I have of pride keeps me from falling into the arms of the only one I could never forgive myself if I would.”

 

The only sound following was that of their breaths.

 

“I understand,” Enjolras eventually said calmly, “You have said enough and I perfectly understand your feelings now. I can only be ashamed of what my own have been. I’m sorry I brought this up. You’ll never me hear me say a word of it again. Goodbye Grantaire.”

 

And with that he turned around and left the room, and Grantaire heard the front door open in the next moment and then falling shut.

 

All of strength left his limbs at once and he slid down onto the floor right where he was, trying hardest to control his breaths that were coming in short gasps and get a hold of his shaking hands. Anger and pity were fighting in his head, pity for himself and god, even for Enjolras, who had told him he was _in love_ with him, and the hint of misery his eyes hadn’t been able to hide under wounded pride and anger because of the same man and the all consuming feeling that every word he had said hurt in his chest more than any punch or knife ever could because they were true.

Dreadful.

Self-destructive.

Cynism.

 

Suddenly he felt an arm resting on his shoulder and red ringlets brushing over his skin and when Feuilly held him tight he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I feel like I have to mention, that this is from Grantaire's perspective and his interpretation of Enjolras words in this moment based on everything he experienced. I can only say that I know Enjolras doesn't mean his first words it the way Grantaire thinks because, let's be honest - he wouldn't - but Grantaire doesn't know that. (And okay, I might be a little bit overprotective here but... but! - That's a valid reason indeed).  
> Thank you all for reading and sticking around. <3


	16. Chapter 16: Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein some things are explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this got so long...  
> Anyway, sorry for mistakes as always, thanks for reading as always and enjoy.

***

 

 

_*beep*_

_“Now!” – “Now what?” – “Your text, R!” – “Uhm…” – “Come on, we practised!” – “Yeah and I told you I don’t want to sound like an insurance agent.” – “R…” – “Cosette…ouch! Alright, alright! Jesus. How do you do that?” – “I’ll never tell. Now go!” – “Okay! So… You reached the mailbox of Grantaire, I am sorry that … oh screw it, just say what you have to after the goddamn beep!” – “R!” – “What? Ouch!”_

_*beep*_

_***_

 

“Uhm, hey Grantaire. Please…please just hear me out and don’t delete or ignore this immediately. I know I have no right to ask you to listen to me but please… just…let me say this.

Oh here’s Enjolras by the way. Yeah. You probably figured that out by now.

You most likely think I only do this to justify myself or because I can’t let anyone have the last word or whatever and when I assure you that it’s not like this I believe I don’t sound very convincing since I basically told you I was never going to talk about what happened again about, well, about ten hours ago. Or so.

Just don’t think I want to hurt you again, I never wanted to. And I feel awful about it and alright, maybe I’m telling you this too because I am selfish in a way and need to justify myself to not feel that bad anymore but that’s not what matters, what really matters is… that I don’t want you to get hurt even more.

What I said to you was utterly stupid of me, I realize that now. I should have realized it right then and there but… I didn’t and I’m sorry. And you’re right. I don’t know anything about your family or about where you come from and you in general to be honest. I only know how intelligent you are and how you make me… Anyway, that’s not the point, is it?

The point is that you are right. I… I actually don’t say this very often and now I’ve already said it twice and oh wow… God, I can totally understand why you think I’m just a cruel, arrogant and presumptuous arsehole, not that you spelled it out like this but yes, you know.

I should probably as well apologize for my behaviour all along that made you get this impression of me in the first place. I know I’m neither the easiest person to get along with or get to know generally. I don’t know how anyone actually stands this, me, including myself sometimes but god, that’s not what I want to say as well, what I want to say is that…

I didn’t meant what I said in the way you thought I would but that I understand why you thought that way and that it is my fault.

Partly.

No, no, no, no wait. I screw that up again, didn’t I? Alright uhm, first things first.

I just need to say that I would never, never ever think that anyone is worth less because they hadn’t the same luck… or not luck but opportunities and preconditions I had. I would never do that. That would be against everything I believe in. Everything. And you can’t know that because I never talked to you about it, I mean, we discussed so much but I actually just antagonized your cynism all the time but you should know I do believe in all of it. In Freedom and equality and all these words you were ripping apart with yours in a way I never heard before. And the only thing I wanted to say was that someone who didn’t has the possibilities I had obviously because my dad is a financial mogul who’s ruthless and definitely discriminatory and judgemental from time to time …. this is not the right moment for that either.

But someone like this then comes around and says a few words in the middle of the night, after some bottles of beer, I didn’t count, that just make the points crumble I’ve been arguing with since I was fourteen.

Fourteen…

And no one ever tried even half-heartily to even argue with me at all. How could I not admire someone like this with everything I have? I do, I mean it and I hope you believe me.

And that’s not everything I need to say. I said this to apologize that I hurt you yesterday but I don’t want you to be hurt again.

I know that I have no power to do that to you again but others might have and I can at least keep one from doing it with being absolutely honest to you. The number of people, who know about this particular incident or story actually, it’s a rather long one, is pretty limited actually but you should know. And if you’ve already listen to me until know, and I hope you did, then you can hear it as well.

You were talking about Montparnasse yesterday which was probably another reason why I didn’t act appropriately when you mentioned him. I don’t know what he told you about our… relationship but from what you said I assume it was a version of what happened that wasn’t quite the truth. Maybe it’s his truth but I firmly doubt that. He always knew how to be terribly charming. Terribly...

So yes, I’m not sure how much he said so I’ll just start from the beginning here, I… yes.

When we were younger, we were practically like brothers. I’m sure he told you that and it really felt like this. I never had siblings and Montparnasse was the son of our housekeeper who was not only an employee to my father but also a friend what is quite surprising given the fact that he once fired an eighteen year old girl who was pregnant and a gardener who broke his leg when he wanted to cut a tree. I never saw him having such a close friendship to anyone again and he was devastated when Montparnasses’ parents both died in a car accident. I was five back then and Parnasse was nine, I think.

He went to see his father in the hospital with my dad, they had been able keep him alive for eight or nine more hours but it was not enough from the start. My father promised to take care of Montparnasse, he was his godfather after all and he would have done it anyway, and so we grew up together, he was like a son to my father and like to a brother to me. The big brother I looked up to, I admired, I trusted.

He was always… always… friendly, attentive, charming, charismatic but I don’t know when I started realizing that I had mistook dread for awe and incomprehension for adulation. He just … had his way to make people feel valued and trustful and safe all along. It took a smile, a few nice words and he had the world crawling at his feet and for some time I thought that this was what I wanted too and he showed me, told me what to say and how to behave and it took me years to realize that this was nothing I wanted.

I didn’t want to make people look up to me like I was some sort of hero, some sort of god, something better than them. I just wanted them to listen because of the actual things I said and not because I wanted them to do everything I asked them to. I realized what he did was not the right way and I began to notice what I had never seen before, what I probably had just overlooked because I couldn’t bear it.

But then there were moments when he was truly gentle and held me when I cried because I had gotten into an argument with my father or watched Princess Bride with me three times in a row until I laughed and then he was again this brother I had always wished for and I didn’t know, I still don’t know sometimes to be honest, if all of it was just another act or a game or a lie because it didn’t feel like it. Sometimes I just thought, he’s my brother no matter if we don’t have the same parents and sometimes I am not okay with what he does and sometimes I’m disappointed but isn’t that what brother do?

Disagree? Argue?

I thought so until that one time I confronted him about… is it stupid that don’t even know what it was anymore?

I told him I don’t wanted to be like him. And he got… silent. And he said nothing, just looked at me for a moment and shook his head, as if he was almost feeling sorry. Next thing I remember was my father yelling at me for being a disgrace for the family and why I couldn’t be more like Montparnasse, why I had to be his son and not him and that was when they send me to a boarding school Surrey. And the moment I got out of the car was probably the happiest moment of my twelve year long life until then because it felt like everything was over and new and free. Eventually it turned out that a boarding school for boys isn’t that free to start with but anyway.

I met Courfeyrac and Combeferre there and if this isn’t the best that has ever happened to me I don’t know anymore. I was happy back then to be honest. Really. Until the time came I was a naïve teenage boy with a lot of redundant and rebellious energy and managed to get myself expelled when I was sixteen. Yes and then my father did his best to pull all the strings he could to get a son, who may or may not had set a poli-science classroom on fire because of the bullshit written in the books that were stored in the back to make a statement, into Winchester.

That’s were I met Marius. Or Marius met me, I’m not sure about that, he was just… there suddenly. I always went home during the holidays but I never spend much time with my parents or Montparnasse for the matter. Bahorel moved there and it was a blessing. A rude and filthy but entirely welcome blessing. Parnasse had lived in Cambridge studying business management because my fathers’ plans were to one day let us lead the company together since he somehow still thought I would eventually come around and actually want to do that. When I finished school, Parnasse had finished university. My father had a minor heart attack when I told him I was going to study political science and history in London and live together with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. I think that when he came back from the hospital he had realized, not entirely accepted, that I wasn’t the one he wanted me to be so he set all his hopes on Montparnasse and I couldn’t care less.

Maybe I should have though.

I certainly should have cared more but I didn’t because I had finally hit the point in my life when I could actually live my life minus a few occasions when my father expected me to be present in a suit from time to time but it was alright. I remember a conversation I had with Parnasse just before I moved to London. It was the first time we actually spoke properly in years and I had nothing to forgive.

I think the first months I spend in London were the best I ever had until… well, a lot of things came at once but what matters here is what happened concerning Parnasse. It was the first Christmas I went home from university, he was there, my father, my mother, even my grandparents and it was better than I expected since I was that rebellious, raging homosexual son who dared to wear jeans. And Parnasse he… he seemed so happy about life, about everything. We sat in the salon in the evening, just the two of us and it felt good. It really did.

He told me about the company and what my father taught him and he went on talking just like that, like he was talking about the weather or whatever, and suddenly he mentioned how he had been collecting data about investments, upcoming projects, high yielding stocks, at first I didn’t really listened until I realized what he was talking about. He wanted me to help, help him get enough information to bring about the downfall of my father’s company to be able to make our own way with the money we would get of all this, to do what we want without worrying.

To be free.

I told him he knew nothing of freedom.

You don’t deserve freedom when you build it on other’s misery. It makes you not less of an oppressor than the ones who oppressed you. I think I wasn’t even surprised. I should have cared more.

 I left and told my father. He didn’t believe me. Of course. But when he wanted to talk to Parnasse he was already gone with his laptop and my father’s harddrive. It was perfect timing then that I got a message on my phone that my father ripped out of my hand and it said, ‘Done. Back off. Distraction worked.’

I suppose you can imagine that this wasn’t one of the best Christmases I ever had. My father then sacked me because he didn’t believe I had nothing to do with it. He cut me off and refused to talk to me again. I told Combeferre and Courfeyrac but nothing of Parnasse. I hadn’t mentioned him. Ever, what is hideous but I always felt like he wasn’t part of that life I had there and I didn’t want him to be.

Ferre found out eventually by accident. I’ve been searching for Parnasse for months by that time until one day he was in our living room when I came back from uni. No one else was there. Combeferre was visiting Courf in the … nevermind.

He asked me again if I would work with him. He told me he had more, not only information about my father’s company, Thenardier, he mentioned, and others. I told him in a probably not very mature or polite way to leave. When he left he said, ‘This was the last time I did this,’ that were his words right in the moment when Ferre came through the door and then he rushed off.

It wasn’t like there would have been any other possibility except telling him everything and it felt good to talk to someone and I would have never been able to do what I did next without Combeferre’s help.

We decided that we had to take action to keep Parnasse from doing the harm he would definitely be able to cause. We supposed it would happen quickly after I turned him down but there was still no trace, I had no idea where he had been or how he had found me so Ferre’s thought was at first to warn the companies he had mentioned starting with the Thenardiers and I don’t know if it was just luck that when we … very legally, of course, figured out where to find a member of the family in London. We found Éponine right ... right in the moment Parnasse kissed her goodbye before he left. He didn’t see us.

She didn’t know who he was. Who he really was. She was so confused, so angry and agitated and didn’t believe us or me, actually, because Combeferre managed to explain everything much calmer, more gently.

I suppose that’s not my strength. I guess he made her not believe as well but doubt. Enough for calling him in the middle of the night to her apartment where Parnasse was staying. He was asleep, he told me later. Just asleep and Ferre hacked, I didn’t say this okay, into his laptop with him sleeping in the room next door and well, sometimes facts are more convincing than words I guess. She came with Ferre immediately and they left Parnasse with nothing.

She gave me all the files to do with them whatever I thought was right except for the ones about her parents’ business. I agreed of course and then spend some time undoing the damage. It took me and Ferre three days to go through all the data and whenever we found proofs of corruption, et cetra we forward it to the press, anonymously. There was a big fuss around it because I had no idea how many people have dirty hands but I came clean with my father since it turned out he might be a ruthless and cold-hearted business man but at least he’s done nothing illegal.

Or Parnasse just didn’t have the information, not sure about that.

He apologized. I think it was the first time he actually meant the words, ‘I am sorry’. I can’t say that the relationship to my family got any better after this but I’ll be back for Christmas so… Anyway, a little later the big bribery scandal about the Thenardiers got public and we both knew that Éponine was the only one who could have done it. She destroyed her own coverage to do the right thing.

She’s by far one of the strongest persons I know and god, I like Marius and he is actually a really good friend but he’s an idiot for not seeing her and I assure you that it is impossible for me to hold any grudge against Cosette because you cannot not like her but still, I just hope that one day she’ll finds all the happiness she deserves. And that’s a lot for all she’s been through, all Parnasse put her through.

There’s something else that happened after that… he, he came to our apartment again, he even rang this time and I know I should hate him for everything he did but he looked so miserable.

So miserable and I wanted to scream, I wanted to punch him but I… I couldn’t. Because I think he really just always wanted to stand on his own two feet just with too many expectations from the way he had been giving the chance of growing up suddenly, I just think he never wanted to be like before this again and how he… the first thing he did was asking if Éponine was okay and I couldn’t… I couldn’t hate him, I couldn’t take it.

I just wanted him gone so, so badly, to never see him or think about him again and then, well, yeah, Combeferre took care of the situation too. He gave him enough money to leave, said that if he wouldn’t he was going to report him and then he uhm… I think he almost uhm… broke his jaw from the way it sounded. Yes.

I never saw him, or heard anything then until that party, you know, where we met for the second time. I was angrier at myself in that moment because at first I was… happy to see him before I came to my mind. And now I’m just concerned of what he wants, he always wants something, I don’t know, I have no idea and Ferre and I thought he’d be gone again, that it was just a coincidence but he’s obviously back in London again for what reason so ever. I’m telling you all this because I don’t want him to hurt you. I don’t want him to hurt anyone of course but… just… not you. If you don’t believe me about this, then you can ask Combeferre and he’ll tell you the same. Éponine as well but I don’t think that’s a good idea. But I think she might tell you one day on her own terms if she wants too.

I’m almost afraid that this is all I have to say and now I just have to stop here because I don’t know what else I can tell you to make you believe that I never meant to be disrespectful … or hurting. Hurt you. Yes.

That was that.

I… I hope you’re going to be alright, no, what am I saying, of course you’re going to be alright, I just… I mean I hope you’ll be happy. And before I make this even worse I’ll just hang up now.

Yes, I’ll do that.

Thanks for listening.

Goodbye Grantaire.”

 

***


	17. Chapter 17: Combeferre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Combeferre and Courfeyrac have a heart to heart. At least involving some points.

***

 

The door opened after the second knock.

Courfeyrac’s hair was a mess; he was still in his pyjama pants. The baggy ones with the bees on it he had already worn in seventh grade. They were a little too short and showed his ankles.

 

Combeferre breathed out.

“I have an explanation.”

 

The other man didn’t move for a moment and just stared at him with unusually tired green eyes, Combeferre couldn’t bear the thought they looked sad.

“It better be a good one,” Courfeyrac said and stepped aside so he could come in. The sofa in the living room was a nest of blankets and on the TV screen he saw that Moulin Rouge was paused. It smelled like honey. Courfeyrac flat always smelled like honey. And something else he couldn’t identify. Something soft and familiar.

 

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre said at first because the words were practically forcing their way out of his mouth, they had been lying on the tip of his tongue since almost two days when Courfeyrac had turned around to disappear in the crowd of dancing, laughing, _happy_ people. It probably hadn’t been a good idea to join him and Jehan for a night out, he wasn’t the guy for loud parties in dark, smoky, colourful clubs with weird cocktails and even weirder music.

But it wasn’t like he had a chance to do anything but shrug and grab his jacket and wallet as soon as Courfeyrac showed up on his doorstep wearing a crooked grin and unfairly tight jeans. He had said, “Come on, Ferre. You can’t leave me alone with Jehan in some weird shit underground whatever. What if he disappears in glitter and I can’t find my way back home because of the dragons?”

He had grinned and it had been a good idea.

Only that it hadn’t been.

Only that after two hours with music that sounded like the extra-terrestrials trying to get in contact with earthlings, a too huge amount of tiny glasses with light green liquid that did taste as good as Jehan said and the poet disappearing to call someone and the following mention of the name Montparnasse, hadn’t been a good idea.

Not at all.

Because Courfeyrac had been delighted to announce his new “project” and Combeferre had been to drunk and confused and overwhelmed to cope with this like a rational human being and haven’t even been able to explain anything to Courfeyrac.

The next morning had been left with nothing but guilt and a headache that thankfully wasn’t a full grown hangover and Enjolras calling at ten am.

Still he hadn’t found the courage to stand up and actually apologize to Courfeyrac until the next morning even though he had no problem telling Enjolras to go for it without thinking too much.

 

“I’m really sorry,” he said again when Courfeyrac didn’t answer.

Eventually the other man sighed. “I know,” he simply answered and than slowly a very, very small smile spread over his face. “I hate when we fight.”

‘I hate that I made you sad, I hate that I was unfair and an idiot that didn’t reacted properly after hearing Parnasse name again, I hate that I have such a hard time being reasonable and calm around you because all I want is to take you in my arms and never let you go again and make sure your life will be happy and safe like you deserve it’, were the thoughts Combeferre wanted to just burst out in that moment but all he eventually settled on was, “Me too.”

It said everything and nothing at once.             

 

“So,” Courfeyrac prompted, “You wanted to explain, so explain.”

He sat down on the sofa, between blankets and pillows with his eyes never leaving Combeferre.

He stood in the middle of the room a little bit awkwardly. “I don’t know how to make speeches,” he admitted and felt ridiculously helpless but Courfeyrac’s smile grew like he couldn’t hold anything against Combeferre even if he tried. It was a thought that made him relax a bit until the moment the other man sighed and said, “There’s no need for a speech, a simple, ‘Hey Courf, besides I’m in love with Jehan’ would have been enough.”

 

Wait.

What?

“What?”

 

“Come on Ferre, didn’t you say you wanted to explain things? There’s really no point in denying and it shouldn’t be that hard to tell, I’m your best friend, well, I have to admit one of your best friends or Enjolras shows up put of nowhere to hit me with something, but you know you can tell me everything.”  
This was so far from what he actually needed to say that Combeferre couldn’t help but stare at the other man before a slightly hysterical laughter escaped his throat before he could stop it. “Why are you laughing?”

Courfeyrac’s expression changed from sympathetic to almost comically confused what made him laugh again.  
It broke some of the tension that was hovering in the air between them.

“It’s just,” Combeferre started and eventually sat down next Courfeyrac, enough space between them that they didn’t touch but also didn’t seem distant. “That is just so _not_ the explanation for my behaviour.”

“Not?”

“Not,” he repeated firmly.

Courfeyrac frowned. “That was the only logical thing I could think of. I thought you were… jealous  when you kind of overreacted when I told you Parnasse was living with Jehan even though I really don’t really take you as a jealous kind of guy.”

“Courfeyrac, I am not in love with Jehan,” he clarified. Courfeyrac just raised an eyebrow doubtfully so Combeferre continued, “Jehan is a wonderful human being and a very good friend I genuinely care for and that is it.”

“Really?”

“Courfeyrac.” The tone of his voice hovered playfully at the edge to a warning.

Courfeyrac eventually rolled his eyes but nodded. “Alright, I get it but that doesn’t take an explanation any further.”

 “In some point it does. He’s my friend so I don’t want him to be hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“Because of Parnasse.”

“Come on Ferre, how can you be so judgemental if you don’t even know him?”

“I’ve met him before.”

“Yeah, briefly,” Courfeyrac pointed out.

Combeferre sighed. “I said that, didn’t I?”

Courfeyrac frowned now looking even more confused. “Yes, you said that. That first time he came to the party in your apartment you said you know him briefly. As in hardly, almost not at all, you know. Just… briefly.”

“That might have been a bit of an understatement,”

The other mans’ eyes narrowed. “Continue.”

Maybe it was the best to just get out with the truth.

“Alright so actually he’s a narcissistic fraud with unprocessed childhood issues and additionally Enjolras foster brother since he was five who tried to convince him to join him selling company secrets that were probably worth half of London and lied to Éponine about being in love with her and basically everything else before we managed to hack his laptop and he disappeared after I almost broke his jaw.”

 

Courfeyrac stared at him wordlessly.

Maybe not such a good idea after all.

 

“But… I guess…,” he tried to continue, to say anything that would make Courfeyrac stop looking at him like he had grown a second head. Or third but he didn’t say anything. It was horrible. A speechless Courfeyrac was almost as rare as a speechless Enjolras and much more nerve wrecking.

Combeferre didn’t panic. He never panicked.

“Well… he has nice hair?”          

Who the hell was he kidding?

 

The silence stretched with the beating of Combeferre’s heart.

One, two, three, four, five.

 

Courfeyrac blinked.

“What the _fuck_ , Ferre?”

His voice was raised about an octave and he stared at Combeferre as if he couldn’t decide whether he was a maniac or not. But at least he was talking again. That was something, right?

“You’re telling me that I didn’t know my best friend had a foster brother?”

Alright, he hadn’t expected this.

“Since he was _five?_ ” Courfeyrac added horrified.

“That’s part of it, yes.”

The other man slumped back into the sofa weakly, not looking at Combeferre. “Why didn’t he tell me?” he asked, more to himself, his voice merely a whisper.

Still Combeferre surged forward to place a hand softly on Courfeyrac’s arm. His eyes were wide and confused and _disappointed_ , he realized so he tried to sound as gentle as possible. “I didn’t know either. I only found out by chance.”

“Then why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

“We both decided it was for the best to not involve you back then. And I understand why Enjolras acted the way he did, he’s proud and thinks he can handle things himself and he didn’t mean to hurt you. Us.”

“Why would you think that involving me…” Courfeyrac started but then he stopped mid sentence and paled subtly. “When you say back then…,” he prompted, realisation dawning in his face.

“After Christmas two years ago.”

Courfeyrac let out a long drawn breath. “You could have told me,” he said and the bitterness sounded just as wrong as silence.  
“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre tried gently but Courfeyrac interrupted him.

“I could have taken it.”

“But you shouldn’t have.”

“Why not? My best friend or… or both of them had to deal with… with whatever it was, I’m still not quite sure about that actually, thank you very much, and I wasn’t there to help them. I wasn’t there because they want me there because I was a fucking mess and…”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre interrupted him firmly this time, the hand that had never left the other man’s arm holding on tighter. “We wanted you there. We did trust you and god, we wanted you there but the reason why we didn’t tell you was because we want the best for you. Always. Just as much as you do for us. Don’t believe it’s different.”

“I could have taken it,” he only repeated weakly.

Combeferre shook his head softly. “Courfeyrac you were in the middle of rehab.”

Courfeyrac didn’t answer. Combeferre hadn’t expected him to.

“Do you want me to tell you everything that happened?”

The other man snorted but the small smile that eventually tugged up the right corner of his mouth was enough to make Combeferre’s heart swell with admiration and fondness.

“Of course,” Courfeyrac pouted, “because it sounds like the plot of a goddamn period drama and you know I love those.”

And at that Combeferre couldn’t help but smile.

Everything was going to be okay.

 

He started telling Courfeyrac the story from the very begging just how Enjolras had told him that evening he came back to find his best friend trembling and drained and a man he had never seen before leaving their flat in a rush. At first he hesitated between sentences, not sure of how to continue when Courfeyrac was looking at him with judgy eyes but as soon as the frown on his forehead softened he got steadier and in the end he finished with an intake of breath after he figured out that he was indeed done.  
Courfeyrac hadn’t interrupted him once, had only gaped sometimes, shaken his head while he kept staring at Combeferre when he was talking.

 

This time he didn’t stay silent for long.

“You got to be kidding me! Montparnasse? I mean… Montparnasse? What the heck is wrong with this world?”

“Lots of things actually,” Combeferre noted dryly.

Courfeyrac even laughed out loud before he went back to shaking his head disbelievingly.  “This is madness. Utter madness.” He paused. “Wait. Does Enjolras know you’re telling me this or wouldn’t he want me to…”

“He knows,” Combeferre interrupted him immediately, “I talked to him yesterday morning. We both decided to tell you: I just asked him if I could be the one because… well, I had amends to make.”

Courfeyrac’s teasing yet warm smile was everything he needed in this moment. “Oh, you really had to. I hope you know that I’ll not let this tosser fuck up my best friend or any of my friends again if I can’t help it and you’re not going to stop me.”

“I didn’t plan on it.”

“Good,” Courfeyrac declared contently before his face got uncharacteristically serious again. What Combeferre didn’t expect him to do next was to surge forward and pull him into a tight embrace.

Black hair tickled his jaw as Courfeyrac had to stand on his tiptoes to sling his arms around Combeferre’s neck.

 

“Thanks for telling me,” Courfeyrac whispered into his ear and all he could do was nod because he didn’t trust his voice when his hands rested on Courfeyracs shoulders. “No more secrets from now on, okay?”

 

I love you.                                                

I will always only ever want the best for you.

 

Combeferre held on tighter.

“No more secrets,” he repeated.

  

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, modern Courfeyrac headcanon time.  
> Courfeyrac is always the happy, jolly friend who cheers everyone else up and no one seems to know him any different so when there are these moments that sometimes just come, when he’s sad he thinks something is wrong and not how it is supposed to be so he doesn’t know what to do and doesn’t want to impose on his friends because it would make them sad and that’s the last thing he wants so he always shuts down and leaves and as a rich boy in a big city he comes into contact with drugs that make him feel this euphoria again, this thing he feels obligated to be like and he gets hopped up until it’s just too much one time and he wakes up at a clinic after an overdose and decides to check into rehab. Combeferre and Enjolras sometimes blame themselves because they didn’t really realize what happened but they help him to accept that it is okay to be sad from time to time eventually. 
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter, next will be up on Thursday. ;)


	18. Chapter 18: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Grantaire is confused but tries to understand and ends up staring at the grey April sky while lying on the probably uncomfortable pavement. Not on purpose.

 

 

***

 

_“How could I not admire someone like this with everything I have? I do, I mean it and I hope you believe me…“_

Thud.

 

Grantaire almost had a heart attack when Feuilly threw the book he had been reading on the small folding table in front of him. He almost jumped out of his seat and immediately let his phone disappear into the pocket of his jeans.

Feuilly sceptically raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah sure. You just startled me, I thought you were sleeping.” The last time he had looked over at him, Feuilly’s head had rested against the window of the train, his red ringlets squished against the pane, with his eyes closed and the book on his lap, some huge tome in a language with a lot of lines over the letters.

“Wish I could,” Feuilly murmured. “I’m going to get a coffee,” he then announced and climbed over Grantaire to the aisle. “Want one too?”

“Extremely hot and probably extremely disgusting train coffee? Of course.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes with a grin before he left.

As soon as Grantaire couldn’t see him anymore he pulled out his phone again, dialled the number of his mailbox and leaned back when he listened to Enjolras’ voicemail once more.

 

 

***

 

 

_“Yes and then my father did his best to pull all the strings he could to get a son, who may or may not had set a poli-science classroom on fire because of the bullshit written in the books that were stored in the back to make a statement, into Winchester. That’s were I met Marius. Or Marius met me, I’m not sure about that.”_

 

A knock made Grantaire switch off his phone, startled for a moment before he walked over to the door.

Cosette looked like summer in a bright flower dress that was supposed to be to thin for April but she didn’t seem to mind when she took off her coat and pulled Grantaire in a hug, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. She had to stand up on her tiptoes because she wasn’t wearing high heels and pastel Doc Martens didn’t really make a difference.

While Grantaire made tea and Cosette chatted about introducing Marius to her father over dinner – it went perfect except for Marius startling and almost falling off his chair one time Valjean had laughed loudly – while she let her gaze wander around in his kitchen slash living room, certainly thinking about how she could turn Grantaire’s flat into something more spring appropriated. He might have been an art student but that most definitely didn’t include interior design.

“So how was Hampshire?” she asked when the tea was ready and they set down on the sofa.

“Nice,” Grantaire eventually settled on after a moment of contemplating.

Cosette didn’t seem convinced. She cocked her head, her blond hair falling over her shoulder. “Aha.”

“Yeah, Feuilly’s friend Bahorel is great and I think they have something going on there, I can’t quite figure out what exactly, maybe they’re just two men who like excessive cuddling, I don’t know. And Feuilly is an awesome cook, I feel like I’ve eaten so much this last week that I won’t be able to touch food for days. And he probably spoiled every pasta I’ll ever eat again because believe me, I’ve tasted heaven.”

Cosette simply took a sip of her tea and raised an eyebrow. It was almost – scratch that, it was definitely – scary how well she could read people.

Or maybe it was just him. Maybe he was wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Hopefully not.

“And?”

Grantaire sighed. “And it turned out Bahorel is somehow really good friends with Enjolras.”

Cosette frowned. “Enjolras?” she repeated surprised, curiosity and reservation mixing in the tone of her voice. It was obvious that she was still torn between believing in the good of humankind, and therefore Enjolras as well, and her disapproval because of his previous behaviour towards Grantaire and it somehow made him feel sick.

 

For a moment he was on the verge of telling her everything.

It would feel good to tell someone everything.

 

Feuilly hadn’t heard what happened, only woken up because Grantaire had been crying and he hadn’t asked. Grantaire hadn’t said anything and the other man hadn’t pushed.

Did he mention he really liked Feuilly?

But then Grantaire understood that everything included telling Cosette about Montparnasse too and about what happened to Éponine and he was sure that neither she nor Enjolras would have wanted more people to know the painful details. Éponine hadn’t told anyone he knew of what she did and Enjolras hadn’t only told one of his best friends when he didn’t have another option. So he wouldn’t tell Cosette of that, it wasn’t his story to tell.  
And the rest…

In a strange way he felt protective, protective of what Enjolras had said to him, only him, that _something_ that had been there for a short moment that was only between him and Grantaire. And the end of Enjolras’ message sounded like a goodbye more than a farewell. If they were going to meet again the moment would be gone. After all it made no sense in telling Cosette. She would only ask questions, how he felt and the point was, he didn’t really know.

He still couldn’t assemble the many views and opinions of Enjolras, it was like someone had thrown pieces of different puzzles together and he had to figure out to which one they belonged to and which was the real one in the end.

There was the proud, arrogant and spoiled idiot image Grantaire hadn’t questioned because of his own prejudices and credulity and he had heard the gentle, caring and honest Enjolras and had seen him in the week before, not that stiff and open-minded and laughing with friends.

It didn’t make sense at first but with every time he heard Enjolras explanation it seemed like more and more pieces of the puzzle clicked together  and so he listened to the voicemail on his phone whenever he could, over and over again.  
So he eventually he just shrugged, faking nonchalance and simply said, “We’re good,” even though he wasn’t sure if that was the right way to put it and started talking about Feuilly’s pasta again.

 

 

***

 

 

_“We both knew that Éponine was the only one who could have done it. She destroyed her own coverage to do the right thing. She’s by far one of the strongest persons I know.”_

 

“Do I disturb?”

Grantaire stuffed his phone in his bag when Éponine sat down next to him.

“Of course not.”

“Did you just reject somebody’s call?” she asked with a sly grin eyeing his cup of coffee.

Grantaire smiled and shoved it towards her. “Just a message. But I would certainly reject anybody’s call right away when you show up because you deserve attention and appreciation.”

“Okay?” she said slowly. “Are you high or something?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to kill me? Is there something in the coffee?” She looked suspiciously at the cup. “Oh my god, are _you_ dying?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to kill you and there’s nothing in the coffee and no, I am vitally alive at least as alive as you can be when you’re an art student in London but coffee and, or tea mostly helps a lot.”

Éponine raised an eyebrow that disappeared under her hair. “Did Bahorel hit you with something when you were in Hampshire?”

Grantaire laughed before he realised what she had said. “Wait, how do you know Bahorel? How do you know I was staying at Bahorel’s?”

“Because I know Enjolras?” she said as if she had to explain the simplest thing in the world. “I didn’t know you were going to visit Bahorel when you told me you were going to Hampshire but Enjolras came back some days ago and he told me he’d met you there.”

“What exactly did he tell you?” Grantaire asked and tried not to sound so urgent. He didn’t know if he wanted Éponine to know what had happened, he didn’t know if Enjolras wanted anybody to know what had happened and he had basically turned into a nervous mess until Éponine said, “He just asked me if I had know you would be there and when I told him I was just as surprised as him to hear that, he didn’t say anything else but that your friend Feuilly is a great guy too.”

She added the last word casually and reached for the cup of coffee again waiting for Grantaire’s reaction like a cat about to leap.

“Well, I had no idea as well. Guess the world is a small place,” he replied not half as casual as Éponine. She looked at him for another second before she shrugged. “A very small place indeed.”

 

 

***

 

  
“ _Thanks for listening. Goodbye Grantaire.”_

He hadn’t expected something large and heavy clashing against his back that made him stumble forward, trip over his own feet, the coffee cup from the cafeteria falling out of his hand when his body collided with the floor.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, are you alright?” a slightly hysteric voice called as he could breathe again after the impact had practically punched all the air out of his lungs.

A very worried face of a young man appeared in Grantaire’s field of vision. “Oh god, please tell me you’re okay. Did you hit your head? Arm? How many fingers am I holding up?”

He held up two fingers and Grantaire slowly understood he was waiting for an answer.  
“Two?”

The man’s face lightened up and a relieved grin spread over his face. He turned around. Grantaire stared at the grey April sky.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” he heard him repeating and another voice groaned, “Two.” “Great!”

The man showed up in front of Grantaire’s face again, slightly less worried but frowning once more. “Alright, are you hurt anywhere else?”

The only part of his body that hurt was his hand still clutching his phone.

“No, I’m fine,” he said and tried to lean up but the other man’s hand snapped forwards and rested on his shoulder. “Slowly alright? It looked really painful when you fell, you don’t know if you have a concussion or bruises or maybe you cracked a rip.”  
“Wouldn’t I feel it if I cracked a rip?”

The man seemed to be thinking about that for a moment. Then he admitted, “Yeah probably,” and helped Grantaire to sit up. His eyes fell on the something or actually someone that had run into him.

A tall black guy sat on the ground next to him, holding his wrist close to his chest.  
“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t tackle you on purpose,” he said with an apologetic grin that made it impossible for Grantaire to be mad. Instead he grinned back.  
“No problem. Still in one piece. Even though if that’s how you tackle you’re certainly a wimp at rugby.”

The guy’s grin widened. “Oh my god. I like him, can we keep him?” he asked the other man who started to examine his wrist with quick fingers.

“You totally knocked him over, Bossuet, I am not sure if he’s open with the idea. Does this hurt?” he said and did something with the other man’s hand that made him wince. “A little?”

The smaller man glared.

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” A female voice came from behind Grantaire, “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already trying to kill someone again.”

When he turned around he saw a woman with black ringlets and almond shaped eyes and the most perfect winged eyeliner he had ever seen shake her head almost fondly as she walked up to them. Her long colourful skirt swayed with every graceful step.

“I’m fine!” Grantaire assured while the black guy insisted, “It wasn’t on purpose,” and the other one said, “I already checked him, at least it’s pretty safe that he won’t die.”

“That is good news” the woman acknowledged then turned to the black man who shrugged excusing and smiled. She rolled her eyes but this time her fondness in her voice was unmistakable. “You honey, are not going to leave my or Joly’s side from now on, I don’t want this to happen a third time today.” Both of the men nodded.

“And you,” she addressed Grantaire who could only stare from one to another, “you’re not going to talk me out of getting you another coffee darling, because your last one certainly isn’t applicable anymore.”

“Told you we’re going to keep him,” the black guy said to the smaller one and grinned. The smaller man eventually helped Grantaire to stand up – slowly and carefully of course.

The woman brushed off the dirt from his shoulder then held out her hand.

“Well, you’ve already met my lovely dorks of boyfriends,” she said with a nod towards the two men, “I’m Musichetta.”

Grantaire took her hand and returned their smiles.

“Nice to meet you.”

 

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know who it was, but someone once said, "Who believes in coincidences doesn't understand the power of fate."


	19. Chapter 19: Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Courfeyrac starts denying, Enjolras stops and Jehan is just a precious human being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting longer and longer, I don't even know how that happened.  
> Sorry for mistakes and enjoy this week's chapter. :)

 

***

 

 

Enjolras frowned. “Can’t we do this in a place more… neutral? Why exactly do we have to do this in _my_ apartment?”

“Our apartment,” Combeferre corrected.

“Our apartment?”

Courfeyrac shrugged and made his way to the kitchen with two bags full of food and enough alcohol for a soccer team – not that he was expecting one, not this time but you could never know what fate decided to throw at your feet – pointedly ignoring Enjolras’ wrinkled forehead.  
“Firstly, I really love your couch, much more than mine, it’s comfortable and comforting at once, secondly Jehan’s place probably isn’t appropriate and thirdly, Marius.”

“What exactly about Marius?” Enjolras asked.

“Really? You don’t know what you want, do you? Last time I told you about Marius’ sex life you weren’t interested and now you want details? I really don’t…”

“No. No, you’re right, no details.”

Meanwhile Combeferre hid his smile behind a tea cup.

Courfeyrac caught his gaze and couldn’t help but grin even more. “As you wish, honey.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to say something more for only a moment but Courfeyrac didn’t even need to see more to know something was bothering him.

 

Courfeyrac had always been someone who wanted to help people, in a different way then his friends: He wanted to help whenever he noticed someone’s sadness or stress and he just wanted to see as many happy as possible.  
The world was so much brighter with smiling people in it, it made him glad to see and feel useful when he could make someone laugh or just a little bit less sorrowful when he asked them what had happened or they came to him with their problems.

 

When Combeferre had told him about the whole Montparnasse-Enjolras-and-additionally-Éponine-disaster and Enjolras had basically repeated the whole story the day after when he arrived, apologizing once at the beginning and once he finished, Courfeyrac hadn’t been angry at either of them.  
Surprised – to say the least – and shocked – definitely – and he had felt guilty for involving Jehan but only for a moment because he hadn’t known.

But what stuck in his head was that he could have known and he _should_ have known.

It wasn’t for the fact that Combeferre and Enjolras hadn’t told him, he was being mad. He was mad at himself because they had thought he couldn’t be there for them, for not _being_ there, for not even noticing, for not paying attention.

 

His friends weren’t the ones to blame.  
He was.

 

When Combeferre looked at him he sometimes thought he knew what Courfeyrac was thinking, knew him so well that it only took a glance, a frown and his eyes, warm like molten chocolate, seemed to say silently, ‘You’re ridiculous, it’s not your fault.’ Maybe he would believe it one day.

But not yet.

If his friends didn’t tell him what bothered them they still couldn’t keep him from asking.

 

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said and the tone of his voice made Enjolras look up from the newspaper he had been crumpling without noticing it.

“You’re still not sure what we should tell Jehan,” Combeferre stated and Courfeyrac had never been so grateful for a simple word, one syllable, two letters.

We.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras admitted, “We’re going to tell him _something_ , that’s why he’s coming. I’m just not sure how much.”

Combeferre frowned but nodded thoughtfully.

Courfeyrac could see them thinking. Enjolras, pro and con. Combeferre, better or worse. Weighting out, contemplating.

“We don’t have to tell him the whole story immediately,” Courfeyrac started with as much enthusiasm as possible, “We have to accustom him to the thought that Montparnasse is a notorious criminal and fraud in friendly and comforting surroundings - ” he placed a bottle of  

vine on the tabletop in front of Enjolras – “And then we have to engage his mind otherwise so the news won’t be so crushing: I mean come on, Jehan loves love. It shouldn’t be so difficult to find an intelligent, profound, caring, calm, sweet, reasonable, gentle, trustworthy and much more fitting distraction, right?”

Courfeyrac didn’t miss Enjolras and Combeferre exchanging a glance.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe we should just tell him everything,” Enjolras suggested weakly, “I don’t want more people to get hurt. I don’t want anyone to think differently because they have a horrible, disastrous impression, I didn’t prevent.”

Somehow Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if he was still talking about Jehan. Or him.

“Enjolras, what do you…”

In this moment the doorbell rang sharply through the apartment. While Courfeyrac couldn’t help but flinch – always when you at least expect it – Enjolras seemed more than relieved when he left to open the door.

“You’re not going to let him get away with this, will you?” Combeferre asked next to him and Courfeyrac shook his head.  
“You can bet on that.”

”I don’t know what it is.”

“Do you think it has something to do with Grantaire?”

Combeferre shrugged. “I told him to tell Grantaire what he feels but I don’t know if he did, he didn’t tell me.”

It was so obviously that Enjolras was hopelessly in love even though he hadn’t expressed it with the exact same words. But at least he had told Courfeyrac about this particular development (triumph) as well immediately but didn’t seem keen on revealing more than necessary.

“You believe me, don’t you?” Combeferre interrupted his train of thoughts quietly, his eyes not meeting Courfeyracs’.

“Of course I do. We promised no more secrets, right?”

Combeferre smiled softly. “Yes, no more secrets.”

 

Jehan entered the kitchen with Enjolras in tow who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in that moment.

Jehan however grinned brightly.

“Hey guys, I come bearing gifts,” he announced happily and started rummaging around in a pale pink cloth bag that clashed with the hideous mixture of blue and green wool that was probably supposed to be something close to a poncho. “Alright, I have The Artist, Un homme et une femme and A Christmas Carol. I know it’s April, so what?”

He grinned holding up the DVDs in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other.  

Combeferre shot an incredulous glance at Enjolras, then turned to Courfeyrac. “What exactly did you tell him why he’s here tonight?”

“I uhm… I might have said something like movie night?” he admitted rather reluctantly.

Combeferre sighed, as expected.

Jehan seemed confused. “What’s going on here?”

Courfeyrac looked to the right, Enjolras was running a hand over his face, he looked to the left, Combeferre took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, put his glasses back on.

“Is this an intervention or something because if it is I’m kind of missing the banner? That would have been a nice head’s up?”

“No, it isn’t,” Enjolras said.

“Well actually,” Combeferre stared at the same time.

“Yes, it is,” Courfeyrac said.

Jehan blinked. Then he frowned and slowly raised an eyebrow that disappeared under tousled red hair.

“Yes, it is,” Enjolras said in the moment Courfeyrac decided on, “No, it isn’t.”

“Actually,” Combeferre started, then silence, until he sighed again. “Alright, this is ridiculous. Jehan, you’re here because we have to talk to you. It’s very important and also not very pleasant so Courfeyrac thought it might be comforting to have a nice atmosphere at last because we care about you and we don’t want you to get hurt because you’re our friend. And we apologize for not telling you earlier right away, we never meant to make it more difficult and we will be there for you when you need us.” Combeferre said with an intensity that took Courfeyrac’s breath away.

His voice was quiet yet firm and Courfeyrac realized how he always looked so caring, so gentle but never so intense. When Combeferre then looked away from Jehan and at him his eyes were beautiful, almost wise if he hadn’t seemed so young and he knew that he was not only talking about Jehan. He had found just the right words as well but Courfeyrac didn’t know why, he just did know that he meant to say that nothing had changed, nothing would ever change.

Courfeyrac could have kissed him right then and there.

 

Woah.

What.  

No, wrong conclusion, definitely wrong conclusion, not the point, really not the point here.

 

“Yes, yes, always that,” he quickly confirmed for Jehan and nodded with all the enthusiasm he could bring up and a tiny voice in his head repeated the words only for entirely different reasons.

“Do I have to worry?” Jehan asked looking from one to another, eyes finally resting on Enjolras when he straightened his back and put on his debate face, like he was sorting out all the convincing arguments in his head. “Possibly,” he said earnestly.

Courfeyrac wasn’t quite sure if this was going to be the best possible method but obviously no one agreed with alcohol and movies and sofa cushions but alright, later maybe.

He looked at Combeferre who frowned but when they eyes met, they seemed to say, “Let him.” and suddenly Courfeyrac only wanted to smooth the tension in his face away only followed by the urge to smack himself. Ridiculous.

 

 

***

 

 

Jehan leaned back into the softness of the sofa.

Courfeyrac who sat at his right side looked at Combeferre who sat at his left side, then at Enjolras who had his legs swung over the armrest of the old armchair that seemed like it was about to break since twenty years but he had never minded, especially not now.  
Now he looked just exhausted.

 

Jehan said nothing, just leaned forward again to reach for the bottle of whisky, uncap it and take a big gulp without flinching. He stared at the bottle for a moment; head tipped to one side, shrugged and drank again.

Then he looked right, looked left, looked at Enjolras and eventually offered Combeferre the bottle.

“You broke his jaw?”

Combeferre’s smile was tight. “Not quite,” he said when he took the bottle from Jehan and raised it to his lips to drink. Courfeyrac was going to deal with the fact that he stared at Combeferre’s lips later.

Or never. Probably never.

Enjolras seemed confused but took the bottle anyway when Combeferre handed it over. He couldn’t give it to Courfeyrac after taking a sip – a small one but still – because Jehan was faster.

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked with a frown and surprisingly Jehan just laughed. Courfeyrac felt a little bit as if he had gotten off at the wrong station but the sofa was soft and smelled like vanilla or whatever, the whisky was pleasantly burning in his throat and there was ice cream in the fridge.

It was a comforting thought.

 

“Alright?” Jehan repeated, “No, I am not alright but I am also not going to burst out into tears because a person isn’t what they seem to be. Not everyone in the world is all good and no one is all bad. I didn’t know him from the start. But I know how I find happiness sometimes. I think I could make it all up with patience or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope. I would have figured it out eventually, not everything, not the things you told me, but enough.”

 

His voice was firm and didn’t shake even the slightest. Courfeyrac could only look at the small, young man with admiration, because he didn’t seem like this, he didn’t seem small or young in this very moment and Courfeyrac saw the same feeling on Combeferre’s face.

Enjolras just nodded.

“You’re not angry.”

“No, I am not. I am hurt, I am, and I would really like to have some ice cream. And I don’t want to go back there tonight. I am relieved and I am sad. I am not angry.” Jehan paused for a moment, still looking at Enjolras. “I am not but you are.”

 Enjolras jaw tensed but he didn’t answer, didn’t confirm, didn’t deny. Instead he stood up. “Excuse me, I have some unfinished business to take care of.” It was as close to a concession as it was going to get.

Jehan only nodded when he turned around and with another word grabbed his keys and jacket from the wardrobe.

The door fell shut with a loud noise through the silence.

Courfeyrac flinched and stood up as well. “I’m going to get the ice cream.”

In the corner of his eye he saw Combeferre wordlessly hugging Jehan.

 

 

***


	20. Chapter 20: Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Enjolras faces Montparnasse who does what he does best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was just really busy yesterday and didn’t find time to upload the chapter. Well, sometimes life happens. Anyway, enjoy. Oh and did I mention I have a weakness for Parnasse? I have a weakness for Parnasse, god, you have no idea.

***

 

 

Enjolras stared at the door of Jehan’s apartment.

It stared back at him mercilessly, silently, cold as if it wanted to accuse him of being nothing more than a coward who couldn’t even bring himself to knock.

 

Here he stood being intimidated by a goddamn door.

 

Eventually he straightened his back, tried to hold up an equally emotionless expression as his opponent and raised his hand to knock firmly.

Once. Twice.

After that his hand fell down and it felt like he had already used up all his energy for this simple action.

Steps got closer on the other side of the door, slowly, and in this moment he just wanted to turn on his heels and leave but he stayed anyway even though every nerve of his body wanted to run.

 

Montparnasse opened the door.

 

If he was surprised, it didn’t show in his face but his smile went just a little bit tense around the corners, Enjolras could tell.

“Well, I can’t say I hadn’t expected you eventually,” he sighed and stepped back from the door to let Enjolras in.

He hesitated for a moment but when Montparnasse raised an elegant black eyebrow scornfully and his smile widened to expose perfectly white teeth, he just rushed past him into Jehan’s flat. The light of the street lamps from the outside that softly enlightened the room filled with books and flowers and lots of other weirdly looking objects would have been calming any other time, only not now.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Enjolras said to the opposite wall while Montparnasse casually strode to the old armchair with a flower pattern that probably hadn’t even been fashionable in the 1950ties. He didn’t sit down, just leaned against the backrest, half of a disdainful smile still playing around the corners of his lips.

“Really? You didn’t know I was here so you came over on a Thursday at 10pm when you knew Jehan would be at your place because you wanted what? Tea?”

“I didn’t think you were back in London,” Enjolras clarified through gritted teeth as if the other man wouldn’t know exactly what he was talking about.

Montparnasse didn’t seem to mind that he had a hard time not giving in to his anger even though if he actually thought about it, he wouldn’t have had the strength to yell in the end. Because Parnasse still looked like the man he knew, still talked like he always did, light and yet sarcastic in between. Only his eyes were dark and cold but Enjolras had realized that they had always been like that, he just hadn’t noticed.

Montparnasse laughed shortly.

A full sound that could have been gentle but wasn’t.

“You’re getting old Enjolras, I perfectly remember that lovely little party at your apartment. It’s a nice one, I have to admit. Great view.”

“It’s not mine. Combeferre and I share.”

“Oh yes of course, Combeferre. Seemed a bit stressed I fear to have noticed. In contrast to your other little friend, Courfeyrac, was it? Well, _he_ looks great for a recovering drug addict.” His tone was still as light as if he was talking about the weather and Enjolras just wanted to shake off that overbearing smile from his face but for that he would have had to touch him.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” he said instead, his tone low so Parnasse wouldn’t hear the shaking of his voice. Instead he obviously thought it was better to not press the matter even more, sometimes he knew when to stop.

Rarely.

He snorted and almost rolled his eyes but not more.

It gave Enjolras a moment to think about why he had been coming here again and he wasn’t going to leave before he got at least some answers out of Parnasse and then have him leaving as well but for good.

 

“What do you want here?”

Montparnasse shrugged. “Maybe I just want to enjoy London, you have to admit it is a incredible city.”

“Spare me. What do you want from me?”

The other man’s brows furrowed slightly but his challenging, teasing tone stayed the same expect for growing just a shade more vicious.

“Why do you think I want something from you? The world doesn’t always revolve only around perfect, pretty Enjolras. It’s a lecture you have to learn. I am sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry at all.

Enjolras choose to ignore his snarky interjections as good as possible. A reaction would only be what Parnasse wanted and he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I let you get away with it the first time you dared to show up on my doorstep again but I’m not going to do it twice,” he stated surprisingly calm.

He just pictured Combeferre. Combeferre was always… well, mostly calm.

“Is that a threat?” Montparnasse asked playfully shocked before he returned to the familiar mocking and almost bored tone, “Come on. I don’t see Combeferre anywhere around to punch me and do the work for you so I’m sorry I can’t really take you seriously.”

“What do you want?” Enjolras repeated not rewarding him with an answer.

Montparnasse expression hardened and he let his hand run through the air in a sweeping gesture.

“What I always want Enjolras. What everyone wants. Life. Only that I might have a little bit higher aspirations as the common folks you care about so much, never understood that to be honest.”

“Then you never understood me.”

Montparnasse snorted again and crossed his arms in front of his chest, his skin was pale even in the scarce warm light of the room. “No, I suppose I didn’t.” He didn’t say more, just looked back at Enjolras with something in his eyes that was way to close to regret but Enjolras knew him and he knew that what he saw was true.

And he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to see it because it made him wonder again, hope again.

It made him weak, and he was tired of being weak.

 

“I want you to leave,” he simply said.

 

“Why would I?”

“Jehan’s not going to let you stay here.”

This time Parnasse rolled his eyes overdramatically and sighed. “Oh really?” His voice was dripping from sarcasm. "Well I figured out that much already when Jehan didn’t text me in the last four hours and I knew he would be over at your place so I had enough foresight to pack.” Enjolras only now noted a simple black suitcase leaning against the wall. “But you’re not just talking about this lovely little flat, are you? You wouldn’t bother coming for that.”

Overcoming the initial bad feeling in his stomach that Parnasse had known exactly what he was going to do and that he was going to come and talk to him when Enjolras himself hadn’t even planned to do so, he took another breath, maybe a little bit deeper than necessary.

“I want you to leave London. Maybe England if you’re already at it,” he added for good measure.  
Montparnasse’ expression hardened. “That’s what you want?”

The coldness of his eyes made it easier to say yes.

“Yes. I want you to leave my life and my friends and never come back.”

“Does that also include that charming young man from the party?” the other man said casually while Enjolras felt like every single muscle in his body suddenly tensed at his words. Montparnasse continued with in a lazy tone but he was tracing every movement of Enjolras face. “You know, the one with the black curls and those eyes? I’m pretty sure you know who I mean, he’s hard to forget and what if I really don’t want to?” he asked coyly.

“If you hurt him…” He didn’t even tried to hide the trembling in his voice this time, he didn’t care, he had to put all of his effort into not surging forward and punch Montparnasse in the face.

“Enjolras, I might be a liar, and a thief but I’m not going to get my hands dirty for such a small matter. You don’t know how hard it is to remove those bloody stains, literally,” he said exaggeratedly reasonable.

 

Maybe his jaw wouldn’t be so hard to break this time.

 

“I swear to god…”

Montparnasse rolled his eyes and waved him off. “Come on, don’t go all choir boy on me. I was joking. Didn’t even think you’d be interested in someone like that. I would have thought he’d be too… plain for your taste.”

 

“Leave.”

 

Montparnasse eyes flickered dangerously. “This is a free country Enjolras, isn’t everyone allowed to go where they like to?”

“Leave, now, and don’t come back.” Enjolras had never been patient and he wasn’t going to start in this moment. He looked at Parnasse, the other man’s mouth curling up into a lopsided sneer again.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll make you if you don’t.”

“And how are you going to do that?” he asked venomously. “Go to the police? Tell them about the oh so terrible things I’ve done two years ago that you chose to withhold? No one’s going to believe you and if they do you have no evidence. You can’t trace any of that data back to me, everything was on that laptop, maybe I once thought it was stupid of me when you stole it but in retrospective I’m sure you can understand why I changed my mind.” His smile widened triumphantly. “So, you have a laptop that wasn’t even mine. Congratulations.”

A strange calmness had settled inside Enjolras.

Montparnasse thought he knew him and yes, he did but the problem, the problem that made him so weak, biased, was that Enjolras knew him as well, far too well.  

  
“Not yours,” he said, “But Éponine’s.”

 

For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever Montparnasse perfectly contained façade crumbled. He had always been pale. Suddenly he looked like a ghost.

“You wouldn’t.”

Of course he wouldn’t.

“Would _you?_ ” he asked instead.

“What do you want me to say Enjolras?” The rest of mere pose fell into pieces when Parnasse looked back at him, dark eyes wide and pain mixed with venom in a way that made the blood in Enjolras’ veins run cold.  “Do you want me to say no, I would never hurt her even more, that I never wanted to hurt her? That I did this not only for me to have a free, uncomplicated, good life but for her as well because I loved her? That I loved you too like a brother, that I would have done anything so we could have been that family I wanted us to be? Is that really what you want to hear?”

 

The silence made the air heavy, Enjolras felt like in this moment the whole world rested on his shoulders, the world made of hope that crept into his heart even though he had thought it had died two years ago when Parnasse had left, the hope that there wasn’t just hate and maliciousness in his heart, his _brother’s_ heart, the hope that in fact _hadn’t_ died, had always been there and the reason why he couldn’t find closure, the reason why he would always be weak because he couldn’t let go with that hope.

Montparnasse words, words that would only made him feel that hope yet again for something so most likely, so eventually inevitable.

Did he want to hear those words?

 

“No.”

 

Parnasse held his gaze for a second and then in the blink of an eye the cold harshness was back in his eyes, his lips tightly pressed together, like it never had been gone, as he nodded and Enjolras was only so sure that he hadn’t imagined it.

 

“Good,” Montparnasse said quietly but it wasn’t due to weakness or pain. His voice was like ice and every word was like a slow drag of a knife across skin. “Because it’s not true. None of it is true. I don’t regret what I did and I would do it again and again and again. You would have been just a means to an end just like Éponine was one as well, only that I was wrong about you, you aren’t as ambitious and independent as you think you are and as I thought you were, you are just trying to live up to the pretentious image of that perfect good, devoted person you’ll never be. You are spoiled, oblivious and living a lie and I had to see your pathetic wretchedness with my own eyes so yes, I will leave because I’m not going to let my hope that you’re more than that keep me from achieving what I want. And I’m not going to look back this time, you are _nothing_ to me.”

 

The world was frozen for a single, endless second.

 

Then Parnasse leaped away from the armchair, past Enjolras who couldn’t move, just stare without seeing anything. When he heard the handle of the door being pushed down he spun around.

 

“Parnasse.”

The other man paused, his face turned halfway to Enjolras, halfway to the door, black hair falling over his eyes.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said because he knew him. He knew him so well but still, when Montparnasses’ pressed his lips together for a moment and his knuckled turned white around the handle of his suitcase, he feared he would answer something like ‘You’re welcome’.

  
Instead he coldly said, “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

And then he opened the door and was gone.

 

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Parnasse, I tried to explain this already during an older fic I wrote, if you're interested you can read it at the end of [this chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1428400/chapters/3769023).
> 
> *Lying, it's lying what Parnasse does best, oh my god I am emotional right now*
> 
> Next chapter will be up on Thursday.


	21. Chapter 21: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein some time has passed and the next excitement is only starting when Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta convince Grantaire to meet "the family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I sometimes misspell Bossuet I am so sorry. I just... sometimes it happens and then I feel bad because he's such a darling and doesn't deserve it. *Fictional character you say? Nope. No. What are you talking about?* Sorry for other mistakes as well.  
> Enjoy reading.

 

 

***

 

„Happy three months anniversary!“

 

Joly grinned from one cheek to another as he took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the bench Grantaire was sitting on in the shadow of a greening tree that was defeating the last traces of winter.

“You are aware that you already not only have a girlfriend but a boyfriend as well?”

“Yes,” Joly nodded and carefully sat down next to him, “They don’t tend to let me forget that. Actually they should be here any minute. Chetta brings coffee. I have cake. Bossuet just has to come but I actually told him to be here,” he looked down at his watch with a small frown, “half an hour ago so I’m sure it won’t take much longer.”

He then proceeded to wrestle a slightly wrecked chocolate cake that seemed to consist _only_ of chocolate out of his bag which he presented triumphantly to Grantaire who couldn’t help but grin while shaking his head.

“You’re crazy. All of you.”

“Of course we are. And you love us.”

There was really no point in arguing that.

 

After the few – three – months Grantaire had known Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta or more accurately JolyBossuetAndMusichett,a he was quite sure that the inseparable trio was absolutely perfect and he was glad every day for meeting every single one of them.

There had been a few people in Grantaire’s life with whom he had hit it off immediately.

He and Cosette had been friends for such a long time that he couldn’t actually remember the start of it all but he couldn’t think of a time when they hadn’t been friends because Cosette simply was a darling and an angel and there wasn’t a person on the planet who wouldn’t love her.

The first moment he met Éponine he had know that they silently understood each other and a single word in an otherwise casual, teasing conversation meant so much more anyone else would ever realize.

 

The feeling Grantaire had when he was around Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta was simply that he felt like they had know each other forever. He totally adored the three of them how they were at the same time individually wonderful and amazing people and a simply perfect symbiosis as well wherein one’s strength helped another’s weakness and the other way around.

And most of all he felt like he still fit, like he wasn’t a disturbing factor in their healthy ecosystem of love and friendship but a welcomed addition that never was unwanted.

Some things in life came easy, rarely, but from time to time it happened and then three months could feel like nothing and a lifetime at once.

These last three months had been a mixture of joy and regret, of dark and light, of the winter slowly fading into the beauty of spring and eventually the beginnings of summer and so life was alright. Sometimes.

 

“I hope I’m allowed to eat that much sugar,” Grantaire grinned.

“I’m sure you won’t repeat it without my supervision,” Joly said seriously, “and today is a special occasion.”

“Three months anniversary?”

“Yes. And an announcement.”

Someone cleared their throat.

“Were you going to make the announcement without us?” Bossuet asked scandalized, Musichetta who looked like summer in person matched his expression with a raised eyebrow. She wore a colourful dress that only reached her knees because the last time she had worn a floor-length skirt it had ended up with Bossuet stepping on the hem and some coffee cups flying through the air.

Again.

“Of course not,” Joly assured them and made place for Musichetta to sit down next to him while Bossuet took the place next to Grantaire, “I was only trying to prepare him so he won’t be too overwhelmed.”

“Prepare me for what?”

“Well,” Musichetta started and handed him the first piece of cake on a paper plate.

Bossuet continued, “We think it’s time.”

“For what?”

“For you to meet the family,” Joly announced and his smile was blinding.

Grantaire blinked. “The family?”

“The family,” Musichetta nodded.

“The family,” Bossuet repeated.

“And with family we mean friends,” Joly explained, “we want you to meet our friends, not that you’re not our friend but we have other lovely friends who are like family so we want you to meet our friends, our big, wonderful, slightly chaotic and partly terrifying family but the last part’s not going to be such a big deal because even those are actually just softies.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be soothing my nerves.”

Grantaire all sudden felt a pang of anxiety in his chest  

Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta sometimes weaved stories of their friends in a conversation; it was always hilarious and showed how much they meant to them. Most times those anecdotes were nothing particular, they weren’t throwing around with names so Grantaire wouldn’t feel like an outsider, it just went, ‘and you know one time a friend of ours did this really cool thing in that bar…’

He loved to listen to these stories because all those people sounded great and they could only be great when they were friends with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta.

Except for the part when he had realized that they obviously were some sort of social justice club or whatever and when he had wondered in the first place why the three of them even liked him, he didn’t understand any better since then.

 

“It is supposed to sooth your nerves even though there’s nothing that should be soothed, because it’s going to be great,” Bossuet assured with a mouth full of cake, “it can’t get worse than meeting Joly’s real family though. I think they’ll hate me for the rest of my life.”

Grantaire turned to Joly with a raised eyebrow. The other man just chuckled and shook his head while Musichetta reached over Grantaire to pat Bossuet’s hand. “They don’t hate you, honey, no one can hate you.”

“I’ll admit it wasn’t the best possible end of the evening,” Joly said, “but my dad fully recovered and the next time we’ll try it without the chopsticks.”

“Joly’s mum had made sushi and Bossuet was polite and respectable – you’re a darling, of course you were – and tried to eat with chopsticks but, long story short, it ended with the chopstick not in his mouth but rather in Joly’s father’s eye,” Musichetta explained.

Bossuet groaned and tried to hide behind Grantaire while he couldn’t help but grin broadly.

“That is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not the best thing that ever happened to me,” Bossuet mumbled but then he smiled, “but see, it serves a purpose. It shows that it can’t get any worse for you.”

From one second to another the insecurity was back.

“I’m not quite sure about that.”

Joly shook his head firmly, “No, wrong attitude. It’s going to be great. We’re just going to go there when it’s a casual all friendly evening.”

“And when we’re already done with talking about the world shattering serious stuff because that’s no fun without drinking,” Bossuet added and Musichetta continued. “And that’s Friday evening.”

“Friday evening,” Joly repeated meaningful.

Grantaire looked from one to another. “Wait, _this_ Friday evening?”

“Yes,” Musichetta stated.

Grantaire looked left to see Joly nodding, right to see Bossuet nodding.

“You guys know it _is_ Friday?”

“Yes.” Joly’s smile widened. The other two nodded. “We thought we’d make you all happy with cake and coffee so you actually wouldn’t notice until it’s too late.”

“So you wouldn’t freak out,” Bossuet added.

Grantaire shook his head. “This is a plan?”

They nodded.

“Is this all?”

The three of them exchanged some quick glances.

“Actually there is something,” Musichetta admitted and her eyes sparkled as she nudged Joly’s shoulder with a mischievous grin. “It was Joly’s idea and we agreed it’d be perfect.”

Grantaire knew grins like this, grins that looked all sweet and friendly and didn’t promised good.

“There’s this guy,” Joly started quickly, “He’s awesome, maybe a little bit stiff at first but that’s going to be alright plus he’s really pretty, not that we think you’re shallow, and you’d be perfect for each other, his name is… ”

“No,” Grantaire cut him off.

“But…”

“No.”

“You haven’t even…”

“N…”

Before Grantaire could continue Bossuet had shut him up by stuffing a piece of cake in his mouth.

“Why not?” Joly asked.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow and pointed at the cake in his mouth.

Joly frowned. “Bossuet, that was strategically not very clever.”

“It wasn’t? Because it felt like the right thing to do. It was great, can I do that again?”

After a few moments with Musichetta rolling her eyes fondly and Joly shaking his head, Grantaire managed to eat enough cake – which was actually much better than the last one Joly had made with spelt flour and cranberries, that should have made him suspicious already – so he could answer.

“I’m not boyfriend material.”

“Wrong attitude,” Joly immediately insisted.

“No, no really. You can ask how it went the last time I…”

Grantaire silenced in the middle of the sentence.

It had been over three months ago since he had last spoke to Enjolras. He was quite sure it had also been three months since he had last seen him also he sometimes thought he spotted a halo of golden hair in a crowd at university or in the train but never so close that he could have been sure.

He didn’t even know what he would have said.

Sorry, maybe?

Sorry for being a proud, prejudiced jerk and thinking you’d be the proud, prejudiced jerk?

 

“Let’s just say I fucked it up pretty badly the last time.”

 

Musichettas’ eyes were soft as she slung an arm around his shoulder, her ringlets tickling his neck. “I’m sure you’re too hard on yourself.”

Grantaire laughed and he didn’t mean for it to sound so bitter. “Not in this case. I was an idiot and I hurt someone because I misjudged him when he didn’t deserve it. He is probably the last one to deserve what I thought of him because if I had known I would have probably been completely…” he trailed off again, leaving the sentence unfinished.

He was sure they understood him anyway.

 

In the last weeks and months he had thought a lot about what had happened. And the actual reason why he was still thinking about it, why he still stared after a head of golden hair in the crowds for long seconds, wasn’t because he couldn’t let go until he apologized. In his braver moments he had been close to calling Enjolras but never gone through with it but the thoughts that were troubling his mind where all those _what if_ ’s he couldn’t stop wondering about, wondering about with regret and shame but not bringing it over himself to make any of them reality, were it the good or the bad ones.

The morning after the night they had met, he had said to Cosette that he was glad Enjolras was just as spoiled asshole. Even though he now mentally cringed every time he remembered the thought he also still knew why he had been glad that Enjolras was only beautiful and not nice as well.

Because he couldn’t have kept himself from falling for him.

Falling for a passionate, honest, beautiful, rich man who would never have never wanted him.

Only that he had.

And the ‘what if I had known earlier’ was too much to bear.

 

“You’re going to meet the family. Today,” Joly insisted and stopped his train of thoughts.

Bossuet punched Grantaire’s arm encouragingly. “Yes man, because you’re far to depressed, that’s… depressing.”

Musichetta nodded and stood up first.

“And don’t even try to object because we won’t take no for an answer.”

 

***

 


	22. Chapter 22: Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Les Amis welcome an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I didn’t update last week but unexpected stress is over now, so here’s the chapter, I hope you enjoy it. :)

 

Courfeyrac couldn’t decide if he liked Tuesday or Friday meetings more.

 

Meetings on Tuesdays were mesmerizing, everyone was full of zest for action at the begging of the week, plans were made, discussions were heated, people stood on tables and glasses were raised and the atmosphere in the Café Musain was filled with buzzing anticipation.

Friday meetings were calmer, domestic almost, less radical and more like a casual gathering of friends who liked to talk about all and sundry than like an assembly of angry, young students who wanted to change the world. Enjolras would still discuss anything and everything with anyone who wanted, always Feuilly, most times Combeferre or Courfeyrac, but in a more quiet way that wasn’t caused by relaxation but exhaustion. Everyone was much more tired at the end of a stressful week and tried to loose a bit of the tension and frustration that had build up with a beer and conversation with friends and it felt like home.

 

The Musain was the perfect place, a cosy, adorable little café that had the habit of turning into a makeshift bar twice a week after closing because the owner Madame Huchelop had a soft spot for a loud group of university students.

 

When Courfeyrac arrived, the usual tables in the back were already mostly occupied and he flopped down onto a chair next to Musichetta.

Before he could say something she had already pushed a glass of beer into his hand

“You’re a goddess, did I ever tell you that?” He smiled broadly, relaxed into the comfortable chair and the smell of wood and warmth in his nose as Musichetta flicked a stray ringlet over her shoulder and smiled back.

“You did. Countless times.”

“You know what, Chetta, I’m telling you we should run off into the sunset together, Bahamas, Greece, I don’t care. Just you and me, wouldn’t that be a great idea?”

She smacked his head lightly but grinned. “Charmer.”

“You know me so well.”

“As tempting as that sounds, there might be some people who’d have objections to that plan of yours,”

“Oh come on, your lovely boyfriends still have each other.”

“And they wouldn’t survive a week without me,” Musichetta smirked with a fond look in her bright, shining eyes standing out against her dark skin, “Do you really want to be responsible for the death of two innocent souls?”

“Alright, alright. But just so you know, you’re breaking my tender little heart.”

She gave him a look that clearly said, ‘Drama Queen’ but then her smile grew a hint mischievous when she nonchalantly reached for her own glass. “Courfeyrac, _I_ am not in the position of breaking your heart.”

He frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” but Musichetta didn’t answer, just shrugged innocently.

Courfeyrac felt the creeping suspicion that he knew exactly what she meant but that was a direction of thoughts he had strictly forbidden himself to go for.

“Where are your boyfriends anyway?” he quickly changed the subject and luckily Musichetta went with it.   
“They’re coming a little bit later. Bossuet slipped and fell into a puddle so they had to make another stop at home to get him a new pair of pants.”

Courfeyrac wasn’t even remotely surprised. It wasn’t like this didn’t happen often. “And why are you here already?”

“Because they’re bringing a friend and I’m here to make sure that everybody knows that they have to behave,” she explained with a significant look at Courfeyrac. 

“Hey, I know how to behave!”

She arched a perfect dark eyebrow. “Really? Do you want a list to prove the opposite or is a well placed example enough?”

Courfeyrac snorted. “Surprise me.”

“The incident with the guacamole?”

“Hey, that was three months ago. And it was only the second time Feuilly was here and look, he’s still here!”

“Yes because Feuilly has the patience of a saint and Enjolras would be heartbroken if he left.”

 

Feuilly was passionate, humble, hard-working and intelligent and all in all great company and Courfeyrac adored the new addition to their group but Enjolras was still the unquestionable number one of the unofficial Feuilly-Fanclub that didn’t actually existed but pretty well could have.

He was also a friend of Bahorel whom Courfeyrac hadn’t seen in ages since he obviously liked it a lot to stay in the country side doing anything but studying law even though that just had to be extremely boring, and Grantaire and yes, Courfeyrac hadn’t given up on that one yet even though he had never accompanied Feuilly.

Enjolras didn’t say much, nothing at all actually but Courfeyrac knew his best friend well. Very well and he was pining. Not in the way ordinary people would pine because Enjolras was all but ordinary, his strategy included throwing himself into work and slipping Grantaire’s name into conversations with Feuilly, Cosette, Éponine or even Marius in a way he thought was subtle.

It wasn’t.

Courfeyrac had a hard time from stopping himself to just ‘accidently’ run into Grantaire on campus but after the disaster with Montparnasse he had promised himself or actually promised Combeferre to let the matchmaking rest at least for a while.

He looked over at Combeferre who was sitting next to Jehan and laughed about something the poet said. The two of them had grown a lot closer since Montparnasse left. Courfeyrac couldn’t help but notice. Combeferre had that quiet, supportive manner that had helped Jehan just like Courfeyracs’ attempts of cheering him up.

Courfeyrac could see the way Combeferres’ warm brown eyes lit up across two tables as he laughed, and swallowed.

At the table in between Enjolras sat with Feuilly who looked tired but spoke intensely while Enjolras listened to every word like it was Jesus personally speaking to him.

 

“I think it’s not fair that my best friend looks up to a man he met some months ago more than to me. I mean I practically raised him,” Courfeyrac whispered at Musichetta who just rolled her eyes again.

“How were you old when you met? Twelve?”

“Well, that’s when it starts to get important, right?”

“If you say so.”

“Indeed,” Courfeyrac insisted, “but I’m willing to let that one slide a little because it’s impossible to be mad at Feuilly and he would probably just turn the other cheek which is actually quite unfair but nevermind. Tell me about that friend of yours. How did you meet?”

Musichetta shook her head at him then grinned. “Bossuet knocked him over.”

Approximately fifty percent of the stories started with this sentence.

“That was three months ago on the day and we wanted to introduce you all to him. He is great, absolutely great and I’m sure you’ll all love him plus he really needs some happiness right now, he seems a bit lonly sometimes but we know how to change that."

  
"Do you?" he asked sceptically. Or pouting. Not that he cared that someone else was trying to be matchmaking, he was perfectly okay with a break and really, his friends were allowed to at least try as well. Not that they stood a chance or anything. 

"Joly and Bossuet _and_ me" she started and that was a quite promising beginning Courfeyrac had to admit, "We think he would be perfect for a particular blond idealist before he’s working himself up to stress disease, Jolys’ words, not mine.”

“Are you trying to say you want to set Enjolras up?” Courfeyrac asked incredulously, keeping his voice low. Incredible. "I am sorry but I think that's a number to big for you."

Musichetta grinned but before he could ask more the door of the café swung open and the whole room silenced.

Courfeyrac almost dropped his glass.

Jehan was the first to find words.

“Oh my god, what are _you_ doing here?”

 

“Vacation motherfuckers,” Bahorel declared with a grin from ear to ear and in the following mess of greetings, welcomes and claps on backs Courfeyrac didn’t care that Bahorel was lifting him up from his feet in a bone crashing hug.

“You didn’t grow an inch, you hobbit.”

“Not everyone can be such a brick wall. Why the hell didn’t you tell you were coming?”

“I did, just not you because honestly the surprise on your faces is fucking glorious.”

Bahorel let go of him and Courfeyrac turned to Feuilly. “You knew right?”

“Of course I knew,” the red haired man grinned.

The fuss died down quickly because Bahorel fit into the group like a missing puzzle piece that someone had found again.

Obviously the country side had been a little bit too boring lately.

He sat down next to Courfeyrac and Musichetta but not before he gave her a kiss on the hand with a perfect bow that looked a little bit ridiculous for a man of solid 6’7’’.

“Mylady.”

“I see the knight in shining armour has returned.”

“It’s not like you would need one.”

“No,” she shrugged and grinned, “But they make nice accessory.”

“Speaking of which,” Bahorel started and snatched Courfeyrac’s beer glass from his hand before he could protest, “Where are your two troublemakers this time?”

“Should be here any minute.”

“And they’re bringing a friend they want to set up with Enjolras,” Courfeyrac added, quietly so Enjolras at the other table wouldn’t hear, “Can you believe that?”

Bahorel leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “You need to step up your game, man, you’re getting disempowered here.”  
Courfeyrac snorted. “No, I am not. I willingly chose to take a break.”

The other man nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, may be better that way, buddy.”

“What is that suppose to mean?”

“Well, it’s fucking obvious that the last thing totally backfired on you.”

“I don’t-” he started shocked but automatically looked over at where Combeferre sat with Jehan who laughed, blush high on his cheeks. Combeferre looked up and their eyes met for a moment, Combeferres’ questioningly and he was smiling a quick, private smile but then he turned back to the poet and Courfeyrac’s stomach dropped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finished lamely.

“Sure, honey,” Musichetta said and patted his arm. “You know what, Bahorel is right and you’re right and everyone’s right and a break is a good thing. Why don’t you try to do something for yourself for once and leave the rest to the others? I mean, Enjolras for example, we can’t let you have all the fun, right?”

“Definitely not,” Bahorel agreed then he suddenly frowned. “Wait a minute.”

“What?” Musichetta looked confused.

“If you want to set up Enjy with someone, then what the fucking hell happened to Grantaire?”

“Did you say something about Grantaire?” Enjolras asked from the other table as he heard Bahorel saying the name.

As if he had some sort of filter in his ears, Courfeyrac thought, how could he still think he was being subtle?

Musichetta gaped at him. “Wait, _you_ know Grantaire?”

Enjolras frowned. “Yes, I do know Grantaire.”

“Oh my god, you’re… oh my god!”

Something in Courfeyrac’s head clicked together.

“Chetta, how do _you_ know Grantaire?”

She laughed helplessly and that was definitely answer enough.

It was horribly perfect timing.

 “Hey everyone, this Grantaire!”

Bossuet couldn’t have chosen a more fitting moment to open the door.

The room went so quiet, Courfeyrac could have heard a pin drop.

He knew Enjolras. Courfeyrac knew Enjolras and wasn’t surprised when he jumped up as if hi chair had been suddenly burned him, blue eyes widening. Everyone was looking at Grantaire who himself looked as if he was about to stumble back out of the room, Bossuet and Joly grinned not grasping the situation, Combeferre was about to stand up as well but Courfeyrac met his eyes and then they turned back to Enjolras waiting for that pin to drop but instead Courfeyrac could only stare at his friend in surprise when a small, gentle smile spread over Enjolras' face.

 

***


	23. Chapter 23: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Enjolras is smiling much to everyone’s –Grantaire’s – confusion, Jehan would make a great police officer and some people are stress smokers.

 

 

***

 

Everything Grantaire could think when he entered the café after Bossuet and took only one look at the other people who were sitting at the tables in the back, was that he must have done something very bad in one of his former lifetimes to deserve this.

 

Not that he believed in karma or that shit but in this moment he didn’t care.

 

After that thought his brain continued only by supplying a not very helpful litany of various curses while he stood frozen on the doorstep.

Everyone was looking at him, all the painfully familiar faces but Grantaire could only look at one of them and wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole because Enjolras looked back at him like somebody had hit his head with a brick.

And then, then that look of shock and disbelief vanished from one second to another and was replaced by such a genuine smile that Grantaire certainly had _not_ expected. His mind turned from cursing over wondering if he was completely mad after all to absolutely blank but he couldn’t help but realize that his mouth obviously didn’t care. He involuntarily found himself smiling back like the idiot he was.

Or maybe it wasn’t involuntarily.

Maybe it was all he really wanted to do in that moment because Enjolras was smiling too, he didn’t look angry, he was just smiling, slightly, and he was beautiful.

And… he was coming closer because he had stood up and crossed the room with quick, elegant steps and before Grantaire was able to bring himself to act casual or at least not like an utter fool – oh, who was he kidding? – Enjolras was there with his smile and his eyes, blue, not cold, not a little bit distant and simply said, “Grantaire” and all he could do was to practically blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

Damnit, damnit, fuck, his brain started again helpfully because Enjolras looked distressed for a moment and the smile trembled slightly but only to then return in full force.

“Don’t be absurd, there’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s really nice that you’re here.”

 

Someone cleared their throat before Grantaire could swoon like a maiden in a too tight corset and god, when had he become such a Marius?

He turned around reluctantly to see Joly raising an eyebrow.

“As much as I’d like someone to explain what is happening here, I think it’s not nearly warm enough to be standing in an open door for hours.” With that he gently shoved Grantaire the last few inches into the café and Enjolras stepped back right in time.

He still smiled.

Before any awkward silence could stretch Grantaire found himself being hugged by a small creature with curly black hair and a shirt with pineapples on it.  

“Grantaire, it’s so good to see you!” Courfeyrac shrieked and after that it felt like someone had flipped the switch because everyone started talking at the same time.

“What the fuck is happening?” Bossuet stared and a speechless Musichetta just shook her head. “I had _no_ idea!”

Feuilly clapped Grantaire’s back, his grin definitely saying, “Finally, mate,“ or something equally smug.

He then was almost crushed in a bone-shattering hug from Bahorel – wait, Bahorel?

“Wait, why are you here?”

The broad man grinned, “Ah, man, that’s not the question, eh? The actual question is why weren’t you?”

Alright, Grantaire certainly wouldn’t be blushing and look over at Enjolras.

Nope.

Not happening.

Damnit.

“Well, he’s here now,” Combeferre said, “What a lucky coincidence.”

Dark brown eyes fixed Grantaire over the rim of thick black glasses and made him feel like a squirming insect under a microscope.

He hadn’t talked a lot to Combeferre, he knew he was one of Enjolras’ best friends, there had been some short yet interesting conversations during the few weeks between the gala and his visit in Hampshire and oh. _Oh._

The tone of Combeferre’s voice obviously was the consequence of the ‘If you hurt my friend…’ speech Grantaire had never received but very well deserved.

The other man’s small smile was much more terrifying as if he had just punched him in the face without a word even though Combeferre looked alarmingly fit under brown cardigans and white button-ups.

Grantaire saw Courfeyrac throwing a quick, hopefully calming glance at Combeferre, not that he didn’t seem calm, he actually seemed very calm indeed just … politely murderous too.

 

“How the hell do you know all of them?” Bossuet asked again unaware of any possible tension.

Surprisingly Grantaire wasn’t the one to answer first, instead Enjolras started to explain, “Grantaire and I met at a charity gala I was quite luckily forced to attend about half a year ago.”

Grantaire’s mind stumbled over the word _luckily_ , the fact that it had already been about half a year ago – had it really been that long? – and Enjolras’ smile.

Why was he smiling? He had every right to hate Grantaire and god, he would surely hate himself. But Enjolras smiled.

“What were you doing at a gala, R?” Bossuet asked confused.

He laughed. It didn’t sound right but no one seemed to notice. “Why? Am I not the guy you see attending a very fancy charity thing?”

“Maybe you would be,” Joly chimed in, “if you ever wore something without paint stains.”

“Hey, I do have clean clothes, thank you very much,” he deadpanned.

“Even a suit?”  
“Yes, I own a suit. But I actually just went because my friend Cosette bribed me with champagne.”

“Cosette?” Musichetta repeated, “As in Marius’ girlfriend Cosette?”

Grantaire wasn’t even surprised anymore and smiled, “Yes, they actually met that evening as well. Cosette and I have known each other for years.”

“You never mentioned her name.”

He shrugged, “Well, you never mentioned it as well.”

Musichettas’ eyes sparkled as she laughed, Joly and Bossuet grinned at him and for a moment it felt like everything could actually be fine.

  
“That is so fucking _awesome,_ ” Bahorel exclaimed and everyone started to laugh, Courfeyrac the loudest, Feuilly rolled his eyes fondly, Enjolras smiled.

Grantaire was then pushed down onto a chair next to Courfeyrac and Bossuet, Joly settled on the bald man’s lap, someone handed him a beer, he didn’t know if the tickling feeling at the back of his neck was because of Enjolras smile or Combeferre’s death glare.

He laughed and listened to Bahorel and Courfeyracs’ stories with Joly or Bossuet commenting and Musichetta shaking her head from time to time in a mixture of amusement and reproach.

Grantaire noticed Courfeyracs’ glances at Enjolras or Combeferre who had to be somewhere behind his back where he couldn’t turn around to see them but he wasn’t sure if he knew what had happened because he smiled at Grantaire without any anger in his bright green eyes.

When Courfeyrac stood up, probably to get something to drink, another man slipped onto his chair with the elegant grace of a cat and the face of a young boy.

He held his hand out to Grantaire and he could see written words crawling out of the sleeve of his absolutely ugly lime green sweater. “I guess we’re the only ones who haven’t been formally introduced,” he said with a soft and pleasant voice, much deeper than Grantaire had expected.

His hair was almost as flaming red as Feuillys’, just longer and less curly, falling over his shoulder in a messy braid, his pale cheeks were dusted with tiny freckles and light brown eyes seemed warm yet distant in a way Grantaire couldn’t explain.

“You’re Grantaire,” the other man said as Grantaire shook his hand. He nodded. “I’m Jean Prouvraire but please, you can call me Jehan.”

Something in his head clicked and suddenly Grantaire remembered the young man from that one party where he had met Montparnasse and… with Montparnasse.

“Nice to meet you Jehan,” he said and searched in his eyes for something that might indicate that he _knew_ and it seemed like the other man did the same.

He smiled shyly and let go of Grantaire’s hand. “It’s really nice to meet you too. After all you’re quite a legend, you know?”

“Am I?”

“Oh yes.”

“And is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Grantaire asked sceptically and Jehan’s smile widened just a little bit around the corners of his lips. “It just means I’ve heard a lot about you. Not nearly enough though.”

He had no idea what to answer at that. From the corner of his eye he could see the others smirking but Jehan didn’t seem to mind. Or to notice.

“What’s your opinion on Dante?”

Grantaire frowned. “The…poet?”

Jehan nodded patiently.

“Uhm…Substantial?”

“Is that a question?”

“No?”

“Is _that_ a question?”`

“No, it’s not.”

The other man nodded again contently and continued, “Gender equality?”

Grantaire frowned but decided to just go with it. Whatever.

“Desirable but quite utopian.”

“Romantic orientation?”

“Valid.”

“Honesty?”

“Self-delusion.”

“Enjolras?”

Grantaire closed his mouth just in time before he could say anything.

 

“Stop it, Jehan, this is not an interrogation,” Enjolras said behind Grantaire’s back who startled at his voice that was closer than expected. He only then noticed that everybody had stopped talking to listen to their exchange.

The red haired man shrugged and his shy smile had turned into an almost roguish grin.

Grantaire could only stare in wonder.

“Ouch,” Bossuet exclaimed and Musichetta hurried to apologize. “Oh, sorry honey.”

“You kicked me!”

“I actually wanted to kick Jehan!”

“Why would you kick me?” Jehan asked innocently.

Musichetta snorted. “I told you to behave.”

“I always behave.”

“So do I,” Courfeyrac stated as he passed their table. He didn’t sit down again since his chair was occupied but took the seat next to Combeferre instead.

“Not helpful Courf,” Jehan said. Courfeyrac grinned.

The conversation flowed back into a steady, light stream of exchanged words and smiles, pleasantly buzzing in Grantaires’ ears after he had recovered from the small shock, he could feel Enjolras presence somewhere behind him, a voice, a word, a quiet sound of laughter. He could almost ignore the shaking of his hands.

Grantaire didn’t know how much time had passed when he excused himself to go outside for a smoke. It felt like the right thing to do. 

Courfeyrac winked at him from the other table. Combeferre smiled. It was terrifying.

When he stepped outside Grantaire felt a little bit light-headed. Maybe it was the alcohol – probably not. He haven’t had more than two beers, yes, he counted.

He had expected an evening of slightly tense small-talk, telling nice, friendly and probably a bit crazy people what he was studying or about where he came from, nonsense like that.

What he hadn’t expected was a room filled of people he knew and who seemed to like him no matter what they already knew and heard about him and a feeling almost like home, or close to something like home.

He hadn’t much experience with the feeling of home.

Grantaire blew a breath of smoke into the air of tangled summer and spring.

He heard the door open.

“I didn’t know you smoke.”

“I don’t. Usually,” Grantaire admitted and took another drag.

He saw Enjolras smiling from the corner of his eye.

“Yes, me neither,” he said and reached down to produce a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jeans himself.

“Do you have a light?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Instead of taking the lighter from Grantaire’s hand Enjolras stepped closer. Two long fingers loosely curled around a slim cigarette as he lifted it to his lips. His long lashes casted shadows over his face that was scarcely illuminated by the streetlamp and the flame between Grantaires’ hands. It was almost too dark to see the blue of his eyes. The tips of the other mans’ blonde curls ghosted over Grantaire's nose when Enjolras leaned forward. Grantaires’ fingers only started trembling when he stepped back again.

“Thank you.”

The silence was heavy with smoke, the sound of cars and thoughts.

“I didn’t think you would come here,” Enjolras said after a while. Fifty-six seconds. Not that Grantaire had been counting. “You never came with Feuilly or Cosette or Éponine. I thought you didn’t want to.”

Grantaire stared at his feet because it seemed the best possible thing to look at that wasn't Enjolras and admitted, “I thought so too. But guess I was wrong ‘bout that as well.” Six seconds later, “I got your voicemail.”

It felt like the words had been pressing against Grantaires’ lips for the better part of the evening, eventually forcing their way out. And he had to stop himself from saying, ‘I got it three months ago, I got it and I felt like the biggest idiot on the planet and then it felt like the best thing that ever happened to me. It was three months ago and sometimes, in the middle of the day, I still listen to it. I don’t know if you want to hear any of this.’

Enjolras slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night air.

“Good,” he said. It sounded hollow.

“I am sorry.” It sounded even more hollow.  

“You don’t have to be. You did nothing wrong.”

“That’s not true and I’m sure you know that too.“ He tried to make the words sound firm but couldn’t keep  a certain bitterness out of them. “You’re just trying to be polite.”

Nine seconds.

Enjolras sighed but it sounded like there was thw hint of a smile to it.

“Then I guess we’re even, don’t you think?”

Grantaire couldn't help but frown. “Even?”

Enjolras nodded. “I made a mistake, you said you’re sorry. I don’t know why but it feels good to hear anyway. So I suppose we both said what we needed to say.” For a moment he looked like he still wanted to say something but then he straightened himself and held out his hand.

“So. Even?”

Grantaire hesitated for a second before he took Enjolras’ hand that was cold in his. He looked anywhere but Enjolras’ eyes to stop the words he wanted to say but didn’t know how from spilling out of his mouth and nodded. “Okay.”

"I guess we should go back inside before Joly stats to worry that we'll get a cold."

"Sure, wouldn't want that," Grantaire agreed terribly trying to sound casually.

 

If he had looked up he would have seen the forced smile on Enjolras’ lips.

 

***


	24. Chapter 24: Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Marius is drunk but still more sane than anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting closer to the end, there are about 5 chapters left. I hope you enjoy this one, sorry for mistakes and thanks for reading. :)

 

***

 

“Her eyes are so blue Courf, it’s like you’re looking right into the sky, the sky in the summer and she’s the sun, not just metaphorically, you know, I mean _literally_ because have you seen her hair? It’s like golden sunrays only that it’s hair but well, not just hair, it’s not _just_ hair Courf, you understand?”

“Of course I understand.”

Marius sighed happily and Courfeyrac continued soothingly patting the young man’s head that was resting in his lap. “Golden rays of sunshine, crystal clear.”

“No, not her hair. Her eyes are crystals. Or Diamonds, only blue or a clear summer sky, did I already say that.”

Courfeyrac chuckled. “Yes, you did mention it.”

“Good.” The word already sounded a little bit slurred, thickened by too much alcohol and a long evening at the Corinth, one of Courfeyracs’ most favourite bars.

Usually Marius wouldn’t come with him on a Sunday evening because he’d be too busy gushing about Cosette to Cosette but once a month there was a father-daughter dinner happening and Courfeyrac would never leave an inconsolable Marius at home all alone.

 

And maybe he was actually quite glad about that because he wasn’t too keen on spending the evening only with Jehan and Combeferre even though he felt absolutely terrible about it.

It was just… weird somehow.

 

Courfeyrac wasn’t sure why, mostly because he forbid himself to think about it too much, maybe as well because he was too afraid what the answer might be, something that would destroy the well established balance, the simplicity of things, talks, life.

Combeferre looked tired but not unhappy but when did a medical student look not tired?  Jehan had obviously overcome the Montparnasse-disaster and Courfeyrac was glad, glad and happy and grateful that everything was back to normal only that it wasn’t.

 

Something felt off and he didn’t want to put a finger on it.

 

Marius hadn’t stopped babbling, the words slightly muffled by Courfeyrac’s shirt in his face.  
“Do you ever had the feeling that when you woke up next to someone that you’d be happy to wake up the same way for the rest of your life? Even though that’s a really, really long time, like an incredibly long time if you’re not hit by a car and eat enough vegetables and don’t smoke stuff, but anyway you just don’t mind? You want that every day, every single day and you just… don’t mind…”

He suddenly stiffened and sat up with a little bit too much force so he almost fell off his chair if Courfeyrac hadn’t caught him by the shoulder in time.

Marius didn’t even seem to notice.

“Courf?”

“Yes Marius?” Courfeyrac grinned because the other man was obviously trying to look very, very serious.

“Courf, I love her.”

“Good for her, young man.”

“No, no, no Courf, you don’t understand. I really love her so much.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Yes, you said that.”

But Marius shook his head almost frantically, his cheeks reddening furiously.

 

“Courf, I’m going to ask Cosette to marry me.”

 

Courfeyrac almost dropped the glass he was holding. “Come again?”

“Courf, I’m going to ask Cosette to marry me,” Marius repeated dutifully.

“You’re going to do _what_?”

Marius frowned. “I’m going to ask Cosette to marry me. Are you alright?”

“Alright? Am I alright? I am splendid, young man, _splendid_! This is awesome!”

Marius then surged forward and hugged Courfeyrac so forcefully they almost fell over. They only crushed into Combeferre who was sitting next to Jehan.

“Ferre? Ferre, Jehan!” Marius practically yelled and reached over Courfeyrac and Combeferre for Jehan’s arm. “I’m going to ask Cosette to marry me!” he beamed. His face almost matched the poet’s hair colour.

Jehan smiled genuinely. “That is wonderful, Marius.”

“It is,” Combeferre agreed but Courfeyrac saw the corner of his mouth twitching so there was definitely a _but_ coming.

“But,” Combeferre started softly, “maybe you want to really decide that tomorrow?”

Marius looked absolutely uncomprehending. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s past midnight, you’re really drunk and despite that you’ve only been together for not even half a year. Maybe you should move a little bit, you know, slower?”

“No,” Marius simply said.

Combeferre sighed but he smiled at the other man encouragingly. “It’s better to think about this again when you’re sober, you…”

“No,” Marius interrupted Combeferre more firmly. “No Combeferre, I don’t have to think about it again because this has nothing to do with thinking at all.”

Marius tipped repeatedly at his nose even though his finger almost landed in his eye, then he leaned over Courfeyrac again, partly draped himself over his lap and started to pet Combeferre’s forearm.

“You’re wonderful Combeferre, an absolutely wonderful human being and your arms are really muscular, wow uhm, anyway.” He shook his head, breathed in and out, then continued, “It’s just that you _think_ all the time, all the time, so much time. But sometimes all that thinking doesn’t matter because you also have to feel, _feel_ , you know?

And if you really feel something it doesn’t matter if you’re drunk or if you’re tired or you can’t think properly because the feeling doesn’t care what you think, it doesn’t go away because of logic or when you patiently wait long enough.

You can’t just turn it off because it hurts or you’re scared or you think that it’s better that way. If you keep it in a cage of thoughts it will break free one day when you don’t expect it all, when you thought you were safe. And it can be in the middle of the night or when you see a flower or when you hear a laugh you’ve heard about thousand times in your life.

And then it’s going to break out and all the thinking doesn’t help you anymore because it could be too late.

What if it’s too late when you realize you can’t keep it in a cage forever?

I won’t wait until it’s too late, I don’t want to wait because I feel right now and every day I wait I will be miserable.

Why would I want to be miserable?

Why would anyone want to be that miserable?”

 

He ended softly not speaking to anyone in particular anymore and silence fell between them.

 

Then Jehan whispered, “That was wonderful Marius.”

Courfeyrac himself all sudden felt at the same time extremely proud and incredibly lonely.

He never felt lonely, he had no reason, his friends were always around and he loved them more than anything in the world but in this moment he could have as well been alone on the planet.

He looked at Combeferre for something, reassurance maybe, anything, but Combeferre only stared at Marius as if he had just punched him in the face.

 

Marius drew himself up and held up a finger. “I want to say something.”

“What, more?” Courfeyrac heard himself asking and Marius looked puzzled for a moment as if he didn’t remember what happened, then shrugged, “I hereby announce that if the most beautiful, gentle, perfect woman on earth agrees to give me her hand in marriage -” he swallowed once and looked a Courfeyrac with slightly unfocused eyes “- I will make _you_ my one and only brides man… man of honour… best man! My absolutely best man ever!”

Courfeyrac couldn’t help but return Marius’ grin just as happy and the other man stood up.

“I want to make a…” he started, then swayed a little and suddenly paled. “I wanted to make a toast but I guess at first I really have to puke,” he announced, turned around and rushed to the restroom.

 

Courfeyrac stared after him, turned to Jehan and Combeferre who were staring as well and said, “I should look after him.”

Before he could stand up Combeferre had leaped from his chair. “No, I will. You be a good best man and order something to drink, I’ll make sure he’s okay. I’m a doctor.” Then he was gone as well.

“You’re a medical student!” Courfeyrac yelled after him even though Combeferre had already disappeared.

Jehan laughed quietly and Courfeyrac joined after a moment. “Wow,” he eventually got out and shook his head disbelievingly, “Wow, that was really…”

“Enlightening? Inspiring?” Jehan suggested smilingly.

“Inspiring,” Courfeyrac agreed.

The other man nodded slowly and suddenly seemed thoughtful.

“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If you’re ever going to feel like that way too, right?”

Courfeyrac took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, “Yes, yes it does.”

“I thought I did so, a lot of times actually,” Jehan admitted, sounding like he wasn’t quite there with Courfeyrac in a small and a little bit shabby bar in the city of London but somewhere entirely else. “I guess there are different reasons why it doesn’t work like that for everyone. Some people fall in love too fast and believe that when they meet someone who’s nice and easy to talk to they would be the one.”

“Jehan…”

“No, stop it, it’s not a bad thing,” he cut Courfeyrac off and he only let it happen because Jehan didn’t sound sad, only a little bit melancholic, “You can meet some great loves throughout your life. Friends and soulmates. You don’t always need _the one_. And some other times you don’t realize that you had them all along, that they were right in front of you.”

Courfeyrac felt something in his chest tighten. “Right in front of you?”

“Right in front of you,” Jehan nodded.

Courfeyrac looked at him, waited. The poet just smiled but didn’t say anything so he took a deep breath, trying once more to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Do you mean…,” he started but trailed off after a few words.

“Combeferre, yes,” Jehan said what Courfeyrac wasn’t ready to hear.

“Are you… sure?” he heard himself asking anyway. It didn’t sound like his own voice.

Jehan nodded once more. “Absolutely sure,” he said and Courfeyrac didn’t want to hear it because the words were like a wave of ice water crashing over him, they felt so wrong, the feeling dripping through carefully build layers of denial and oblivion like they were nothing and they weren’t, not really because it had only taken a moment, a single moment to make him realize it felt wrong because it was Jehan who was in love with Combeferre and not _him_. It shouldn’t be Jehan because _Courfeyrac_ was in love with his best friend and god, how could he not have noticed?

 

His own conduct, his own heart was before him within a few seconds.

 

“Courf?” Jehan placed a slender hand on Courfeyrac’s arm and his bright brown eyes were incredibly serious, “Combeferre is the last man in the world who would intentionally give anyone the idea of feeling more for them than he really does, wouldn’t he?”

It took Courfeyrac a moment before he could find himself able to answer and force a smile. “No, he wouldn’t do that.”

Combeferre wouldn’t pretend to be in love with someone if he wasn’t. He didn’t have to because he was in love with Jehan and even Courfeyrac had to admit it would be a perfect match. That intelligent, profound, caring, calm, sweet, reasonable, gentle and trustworthy person he had hoped to find for Jehan turned out to be Combeferre who was all of that and more.

A few months earlier Courfeyrac had laughed at the idea of Combeferre being in love with the poet but at that time Jehan – perfect, wonderful Jehan - had been falling for Montparnasse. It had been impossible, ridiculous. Safe.

But now, now Jehan was in love with Combeferre and Combeferre…

Combeferre wouldn’t give anyone the idea of feeling more for them than he really did.

“I think I should postpone that toast.”

Courfeyrac startled as he heard Marius’s voice.

He seemed to look a little bit green around the nose.

Courfeyrac didn’t meet Combeferres’ or Jehans’ eyes, he just laughed – it sounded hollow in his ears – and stood up to help Marius stand upright.

“Let’s bring you home, young man,” he said and threw some money on the counter, steadied the taller man with an arm around the waist and without turning around he listened to his survival instincts and fled the scene as fast as possible.

 

***

 

 


	25. Chapter 25: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein somebody uses a slightly unconventional method to talk some sense into Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's really not much but I'll better say it beforehand, trigger warning for knives and minor violence, just in case.  
> 

 

***

 

It was surprising how easily Grantaire seemed to fit into the group of friends without much of excitement, without trouble, it felt just like he was yet another piece of the puzzle that linked perfectly with the others.

Éponine and Cosette who both felt a little bit scandalized that they hadn’t been the ones who had managed to get Grantaire to meet the rest of the group, frequently and practically physically dragged him along to the Musain.

Not that they actually had to, he would have come anyways.

Grantaire automatically found himself being drawn to the classy little café where he almost always met a familiar face for a short conversation over a cup of tea or coffee.

One week later he was already greeted every time he entered by the barista Louison.

It was nice. It was more than nice; he felt comfortable, welcome and accepted.

Still he could never keep himself from hoping that Enjolras would through the door.

To be quite honest, it was madding.

Madding and somehow bitterly ironic.

But after all Grantaire probably deserved every bit of shame and hopelessness he felt now every time he saw Enjolras because every second he spend with the other man was like a slap of realization how wrong he had been.

It had been easier when Grantaire hadn’t known how passionate, caring and _good_ Enjolras was.

 

It had been easier because now he knew how happy he could have been.

  
“You’re moping,” Cosette noted as she flopped down onto the chair next to Grantaire and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“I am not.”

“Of course you are. Enjolras left five minutes ago and you haven’t stopped staring at the door since then.”

He had never told her what happened three months ago in Hampshire.

He had told no one because it didn’t felt like a thing he was allowed to do since it wasn’t just about him, the last one it was actually about was him.

But he had admitted to Cosette and Éponine that he had been wrong about Enjolras and well… To say they had a field day was putting it mildly.

“I have… not,” Grantaire said weakly and convinced no one.

Cosette sighed quietly and stood up again, straightened her pale blue skirt and put on her coat.

“Come on, let’s get going, it’s late.”

Grantaire glanced at his watch, it was almost 2 am on a Friday, the only ones left in the Musain were Grantaire and Cosette as well as Marius and Courfeyrac.

Enjolras had left earlier after Bahorel, Jehan and Feuilly with a particularly quiet Combeferre in tow who had been spending the entire evening staring holes into the tabletop.  

 

They closed the door after waving goodbye to Louison and Madame Hucheloup who had been playing draughts behind the counter.

 

It took about five minutes until Marius had hugged and kissed Cosette enough to leave with Courfeyrac who grinned the whole time and would probably be teasing the other man mercilessly on their way home even though Grantaire had noticed that his usually bright and mischievous green eyes had seemed tired and almost sad during the last days, it was quite unsettling but then Courfeyrac hugged him and Cosette quickly, flashed them a smile and playfully dragged a besotted Marius away so that Grantaire wasn’t sure anymore if he hadn’t only misread something there.

 

Cosette looked after her boyfriend with a fond smile and didn’t seem to be keen on moving anytime soon.

 

“Who’s staring now?” Grantaire mocked and Cosette who snapped out of her trance rolled her eyes and hit his shoulder not just lightly.

“At least someone just admitted he was staring as well,” she grinned, then sighed blissfully, “God, I really do love him, R.”

And Grantaire would never be able to tease her when she sounded so sincere and sure that it made his heart ache.

“I’m happy for you,” he said and the words were honest yet they tasted bitter and he hated it.

She looked at him understandingly but without pity, didn’t push him to say anything more.

And after some moments just said, “I called Papa, he’s picking me up. Do you want to stay at ours tonight?”

Grantaire was about to say yes, yes, he didn’t want to be alone in his dark, empty apartment but right in the moment he opened his mouth, his eyes caught the figure of a man on the other side of the street standing smoking in the shadow of a small side alley and instead he shook his head slowly.  

“No, it’s alright.”

“You know you’re always welcome.”

“I know. Thank you Cosette.”

 

Valjean arrived a few minutes later and Grantaire politely declined the same offer again.

The figure in the shadows impatiently kicked away the stomp of their cigarette.

 

When the car pulled away Grantaire crossed the streets.

The words ‘What are you doing here?’ were burning on his tongue but the other man was faster.

“What are you doing here?” Montparnasse asked, his dark eyes narrowed dangerously.  

To hear the words he had been about to say caught him off guard. “What?”

“I said,” Montparnasse started slowly, “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

Grantaire quickly recovered and barked out a laugh. “I really don’t think you’re in the position of asking that.”

A very small smile spread over the other man’s features. It wasn’t a friendly one. “Am I not?”

“No, you’re not.”

Montparnasse raised a single, elegant eyebrow. “But you are?” he asked and his voice was dripping from sarcasm.

“More than you are at least.”

Grantaire held Montparnasse’s gaze until the other man looked away first, huffed and lightened up another cigarette. “I assume he told you the whole _story_?”

“He did,” Grantaire confirmed and tried very hard to stay calm.

 

He despised the other man’s ignorance, his arrogance, his cruelty but still he couldn’t help but feel an antagonizing empathy, pity maybe, he looked not just pale but sick, the colour had drained from his lips, there were dark rings under his eyes.

Montparnasse only nodded and took another drag of his cigarette.

“Why are you here?” Grantaire tried again. “Do you want to tell me he’s been lying? That you’re the good one here or that everything was just a big misunderstanding?”

“No,” Montparnasse simply said, “that would be quite pointless, wouldn’t it?”

“What do you want then?”

“I’m waiting for an answer to my question,” he said patiently. “What are you doing here, Grantaire?”

“It doesn’t matter and you don’t have to -”

“Stop it,” Montparnasse cut him off mid-sentence, his voice had gone dangerously low. Before Grantaire could say anything else Montparnasse continued in the same tone, “You’ll listen to me now because I am _not_ ,” he punctuated the word with a pause, “going to say this again and if you don’t do what I tell you, you _will_ regret it.”

  
Grantaire stared at him “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes,” Montparnasse said bluntly.

 

He looked at him for another moment then Grantaire turned around and walked away.

He expected the other man to grab his arm to stop him but he didn’t.

Instead he had almost crossed half of the street again until he heard Montparnasse calling, “You’re hurting him.”

 

He stopped death in his tracks.

 

“I don’t know what you’re doing here Grantaire, but I am not going to let you hurt him.”

Grantaire turned around and walked back slowly. When he stood in front of the other man he asked, “Because you already hurt him enough?”

“Yes,” he replied, his face showing no emotion.

“And now you are here to do what?” Grantaire’s voice had become louder, he didn’t understand what Montparnasse was playing, what he wanted and how the hell he thought he had any right to do whatever he was doing, “I don’t know why you showed up here and waited for me when you could have -”

Montparnasse’s movement was so unexpected that Grantaire didn’t even have time to react when the other man grabbed him by the front of his shirt and crashed him into the wall in the shadows of the house, the stones pressing against his back and something cold and sharp lingering just over his throat.

The other man’s face was close and there wasn’t a single bit of colour left in his eyes.

“I already told you why _I_ am here, several times but you obviously don’t want to cooperate. Fine, then don’t, I don’t care, I don’t have all night so I’m going to do the talking from now on and you do the listening.”

To emphasise his words he pushed Grantaire even harder against the wall.

Montparnasse leaned closer and spoke slowly right into his ear.

“Alright, there are only two possible reasons why you decided to come back here once the lovebird trio dragged you along.

Firstly, you know exactly how Enjolras feels about you and don’t reciprocate these feelings and want to make him suffer because you think he doesn’t deserve your affection but any pain you can cause him.

Secondly, you have feelings for him and think _he_ is not reciprocating them what makes you too scared to tell him but you can’t stop coming to see him.

If the first case applies you’re no better person than I am and I want you to never go near him again because _you_ don’t deserve _him_. I have ways to find out if only you set a foot into this café again and I will still find more ways to hurt you until you wish you never even set a foot onto the surface of the earth.

If the second case applies then I want you to know that you are probably the most oblivious person in the world because even someone who is blind _and_ deaf would know that he loves you why ever, I don’t care, I don’t need to understand because I already understood that he does and that is all I need to know. So if you love him too but you’re too scared or you think you don’t deserve him or whatever reason you concocted in your head for not telling him, I want you to know that none of it is as important as the fact that he loves you and you love him so if you don’t tell him after this oh so new information I just provided you then you’ll both end up being miserable.

If you want that I’m telling you now to leave as well and I would repeat my warnings of what would happen if you ever came back if I didn’t know you would hurt yourself with that much more than I ever could.

I guess I expressed myself clearly enough.”  

 

With this last words Montparnasse stepped back, his hands left Grantaires’ shirt and the metal disappeared his throat.

Grantaire drew a deep breath and stared at the other man, his mind racing.  
“You are mad,” he eventually choked out, “You are absolutely mad.”

He realized his voice sounded about an octave higher in his ears and he tried to calm his breath.

 

“Yes, I am mad. But how is that the point right now?” Montparnasse asked, rolling his eyes and let the butterfly knife disappear in the inside pocket of his trench coat. 

 

Grantaire frowned, shook his head like that would help in any kind of way and said, “It’s not,” because it wasn’t as Montparnasses’ words slowly dawned on him.

“Right, it’s not,” Montparnasse repeated.

He cocked his head and regarded Grantaire thoughtfully for a moment before he said, “I want you to know I’m glad that I met you again whatever your answer is. You’re the person my brother decided is worth loving so you give me something to remember about him.”

“I…” Grantaire started but Montparnasse had already turned around and walked away without turning around.

 

He couldn’t find the power within him to follow him, he wouldn’t have known what to say anyway, so he just stared after the man until he disappeared around the street corner, his dark silhouette becoming one with the shadows.

 

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably hate me for ending the chapter like this. .... Sorry? But –there’s a but here – I’m almost done writing this story, that means I will upload the rest of the chapters more frequently now because well, why should I let you wait, I am actually a nice person. Sometimes.  
> Anyway,i hope your enjoyed the chapter and thanks for reading! ♥


	26. Chapter 26: Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein sleep doesn't come easy and Enjolras and Combeferre have a long overdue conversation.

***

 

Enjolras couldn’t sleep.

He had been staring at the ceiling of his bedroom without actually knowing how much time had passed. At some point the night doesn’t get darker. It just stays dark and dark and dark until the sun starts to rise again.

When he teared his eyes away from the ceiling and glanced over at his clock, the numbers showed that it was almost half past two in the night.

Enjolras sighed, ran his hands over is eyes and then decided to get some water from the kitchen just so he wouldn’t have to lay down anymore doing nothing but trying to suppress the ongoing thoughts of his minds that just wouldn’t shut up.

He tapped through the silent living room that was illuminated by the light of the streetlamps from below into the kitchen.

He switched on the light and almost got a heart attack when he turned around.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Combeferre asked from where he sat at the kitchen table in his pyjamas, a mug in his hands. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared me!”

“Sorry,” the other man mumbled and stared at the mug. 

Enjolras’ breathing calmed down again and he shook his head. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

Combeferre huffed and raised an eyebrow. “Well, what are _you_ doing here in the middle of the night?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.”

Enjolras didn’t ask if he was alright, he could very well see that he was not. His friend didn’t only look tired in a way everybody who was sitting in a dark kitchen at 2 am would look like, he also seemed exhausted. The bags under his eyes were heavy and his hair was dull and tousled. He looked thinner than usual.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asked instead.

Combeferre sighed quietly, slowly spinning the mug in his hands. “I couldn’t stop thinking,” he eventually said, “I can’t stop thinking all the bloody time and sometimes I feel like I should just screw it all but I just can’t. I just can’t _stop_.” He ran a hand across his face. “God, I’m pathetic.”

“No, you’re not,” Enjolras insisted in loss for better words. He meant them though. He meant them genuinely.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow and regarded him over the rim of his glasses. “Enjolras, do you know what’s in this mug?”

“Tea?” he replied sceptically after a moment even though he had no idea how that was supposed to matter.

To his utter horror Combeferre started laughing, it reasounded dully in the otherwise quiet room. He laughed until he suddenly stopped again, from one second to another, then he slowly said, “Whiskey.”

Enjolras stared at him. Then stared at the mug. Back at Combeferre.  
“How much did you drink?”

Combeferre joylessly laughed once more, “Not a bit.” He shook his head. “It just feels kind of reassuring that I could if I wanted to. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

Combeferre didn’t answer.

Enjolras eventually sat down next to him and quietly asked, “What changed?”

“What do you mean?” Combeferre said flatly in response.

“Well, firstly you never got drunk in the middle of the night in our kitchen, in the dark.”

“I’m not getting drunk.”

“It’s not just that. You were miserable the whole week. Until Tuesday I thought you were just tired but it’s not that, is it?”

Combeferre only shook his head.

“You were never miserable about it.”

The other man looked up at Enjolras. Then he buried his face in his hands and for a terrifying moment Enjolras thought he started to cry but it was just the muffled sound of laughter again what was probably even more unsettling.

“Marius happened,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras frowned surprised. That wasn’t what he had expected. “Marius?”

“Yes, Marius. We were in the Corinth, last Sunday. He, Jehan, Courf-” his voice stumbled a little bit over the name, “and I. Marius was pretty drunk and got the idea of proposing to Cosette and I told him it was a great thing but he should be reasonable and you know, decide when he would be sober again. He just started rambling but in the end… it wasn’t just that, it was much more than that because what he said made me realize that I _thought_ it would be okay, that I am just kind of living with it and it’s not a big deal and I’m alright with it but… I am not. I’m baring it. Every day, every single day and I just… can’t anymore. It’s selfish and I hate it, it’s not fair to think like this because he’s done nothing wrong at all and I won’t take away his friend because of my own egoism. I _want_ him to be happy and I _want_ him to find someone whoever it’ll be out of everyone. But what Marius said made me realize I couldn’t take it. I won't be able to watch it whenever it’ll be, whatever I am telling myself how reasonable and wise and logical it is and I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to do anymore. ”

Combeferre silenced, staring into nothing and nothing as if it would give him an answer and an off-putting feeling settled unpleasantly in Enjolras’s stomach, he hadn’t seen his friend looking so forsaken for a long time, maybe even in forever. Combeferre always was the one being patient, calm and calm _ing._

When Enjolras rested a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder he felt like he had stepped into an alternate universe, somewhere out of balance and so he was surprised how firm and reasonable he sounded when he said, “I know you thought about it and that you have all those reasons why you shouldn’t do it but it doesn’t matter.. It’s not like he would ever hate you. We know that Courfeyrac doesn’t _hate_ and especially not you. Maybe you just need someone else to tell you this. You should talk to him.”

“I’m scared,” Combeferre admitted so quietly that Enjolras almost couldn’t hear him. “I’m scared that it will change everything.”

  
“You’re sitting in a dark kitchen in the middle of the night and stare at whiskey. I think you don't see that it already did.”

They sat in silence for minutes that stretched longer and longer until Combeferre looked up at Enjolras again and the small smile that played around the corner of his lips was honest this time.

“It’s weird,” he said, “I mean I was quite sure you knew, you had to know, we just … never really talked about it.”

Some of the tension had vanished with the other man’s smile and Enjolras sort of snorted at that. “I’m not _actually_ blind, Ferre. I notice things and I definitely notice when my two best friends are in love with each other.”

Combeferre flinched. “He’s not in love with me.”

“He loves you. Don’t tell me he doesn’t.”

“As a _friend_ which is precisely the problem.”

“Only for you. It’s much easier like that, when you’re friends. You know he’ll love you anyway even _if_ ”- he tried to let the word sound as impossible as he could – “he doesn’t feel the same way and it is awkward or weird for some time. He'll love you anyway because he cares about you and he knows about all your flaws or your mistakes and will be still there for you. He wouldn’t think any less of you. It’s easier, believe me.”

Enjolras only noticed how bitter the last words sounded after they left his mouth.

Combeferre was quiet again then he softly said, “I’m sorry.” Enjolras knew that he wasn't talking about Courfeyrac or himself anymore.

“It’s not your doing.”

“Yours neither.”

“That’s not true. I was confused and I didn’t handle it well. I was proud and I overestimated myself, I was proud and…”

“Stop it,” Combeferre cut him off sharply, “You’re a good man Enjolras. Everybody who knows you can see that and would never think anything else.” His tone got softer and the returning firmness in his voice was more reassuring than Enjolras had expected it to be. It came as such a relief that he didn’t immediately protest but listened instead.

“Grantaire didn’t know you.”

Enjolras had told Combeferre only roughly what had happened. How Grantaire had rejected him, what he had thought about Parnasse, how Enjolras had tried to explain, how they had called it a truce the first time they’d met again, not more, not less.

He didn’t had to tell him he wasn’t less in love than months ago in the moment Grantaire had came through the door. But Combeferre had never pushed him to say more. Maybe because Enjolras had always did the same.

“But he does know you now,” Combeferre continued, “he’s getting to know you now because you gave him the chance to. It’s not he who is giving you a second chance. It’s you and he’s only taking it. You can decide if you want to give it to him but I know you already did. I told you once you should talk to him and I know it didn’t end with the best possible outcome that moment but in retrospective it did. Because it ended with honesty and the truth. If he doesn’t want that chance to get to know you, he wouldn’t have come back again. He’s not cruel, he doesn’t do it to make you suffer. There’s not other reason why else he would use any chance to talk to you again.”

This time it was Enjolras who needed some minutes of silence to sort his thoughts. Combeferre waited patiently while Enjolras’ thoughts always took the same path in circles, again and again because there was only one thing that mattered, until he was ready to say, “I still love him.”

The other man nodded as if he hadn’t expected anything else.

“You should talk to him. Start with honesty this time.”

“I tell him if you tell Courf,” Enjolras murmured not annoyed, more defeated.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. “Really? Now it’s the ‘you tell him-I tell him-thing?’

Enjolras shook his head. “Of course not. I only told you what I think you should do, I won’t force you into-”

“I’ll do it."

Enjolras paused. “What?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll go… and tell him,” Combeferre said again and it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, if you feel like it’s not the right time,” Enjolras stated carefully because Combeferre looked like he was either about to explode or to cry.

Eventually he did nothing of this and only shook his head. “There’s no right time to do it.” Then he abruptly stood up.

Enjolras stared at him. “What, _right now_?”

Combeferre nodded firmly. “Every day I wait I will be miserable,” he said with an almost sarcastic undertone and Enjolras frowned.

“Did Marius say that?”

“Yes, he did and he was right about it.”

“It's usually the other way around. I didn’t expect Marius Pontmercy to talk some sense into you.”

Combeferre glanced at him and then he started to laugh again and this time Enjolras joined in because it didn’t sound joylessly or wrong, maybe it was a little bit too high-pitched with a slight undertone of nervousness but it was honest.

“I’d never expected that either,” Combeferre said, “I’m glad he did. And as weird as it sounds I’m glad you couldn’t sleep as well.”

“Not weird,” Enjolras smiled.

“Good,” he replied and started fidgeting with his hands while he didn’t move a step. “I’m going to do this. I’m going to tell one of my best friends that I’m in love with him.” It didn’t seem like he still remembered Enjolras being there until he looked up with silent determination in his brown eyes. “I’m going to do it.”

Enjolras only stood up as well, clapped his back reassuringly and went with him to the door. Combeferre mindlessly put on shoes and grabbed his coat but when he opened the door they weren’t faced with a dark hallway but with Grantaire whose hand stopped midway to the doorbell.

Enjolras froze.

Grantaire froze.

Combeferre mumbled something like, “Hey Grantaire,” before he passed him hurriedly and practically flew down the stairs, taking two steps at a time as if he hadn't notice a thing, he probably hadn't.

Enjolras tried to remember how to speak. 

For some moments it was silent in the hallway. 

 

"What are you doing here?"

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when this started to be a game of "Who can fit the most cliffhangers in one story?".


	27. Chapter 27: Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nighttime conversations part I.

***

 

Courfeyrac was woken up after what felt like he had only been asleep for a maximum of five minutes by the too loud ringtone of his phone.

Sleep didn’t come easily those last few days so he fought against opening his eyes and blindly reached for his phone. Still half asleep he didn’t even look who was calling and just mumbled, ”What?” not caring that he sounded quite unfriendly but how could anyone expect something else in the middle of the night.  
“Hey Courf.”

From one second to another Courfeyrac was wide awake. His heart felt like it wanted to just jump out of his chest.

“Ferre?” And great now, that sounded like a squeak.

_‘Good God, get a grip!’_ his brain supplied hysterically and frankly spoken not exactly helpfully.

 

Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “Uhm, what’s wrong? Why are you calling me at-” he glanced at the clock on his nightstand and did a double take. “-3.52, why are you calling me at _3:52_?”

The answer came hesitantly. “I.. I might be standing in front of your door?”

“You what?”

“I don’t want to ring the doorbell and wake up Marius but I really need to talk to you.”

Courfeyrac forced himself to take a deep breath. His brain obviously had lost control of his mouth because all he said was, “Uhm.”

“Could you just open the door? It’s cold and in the middle of the night. Please.”

“What? I mean yes, sure. Wait a sec.”

Combeferre said something else but Courfeyrac didn’t hear it anymore because he had already hung up and stared at the phone in his hand.

  
“Shit!”

 

He jumped off his bed and promptly entangled his feet in the sheets and found himself on the floor a moment later.

“Shit, shit, shit. Okay, okay breathe.”

It was a hopeless attempt to calm himself, it didn’t actually work out, but at least he managed to stand up properly this time. Only when he switched on the light in the living room he realized he was wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms that sat a little too loosely on his hips and probably belonged to Marius and his hair had to look like birds had made themselves a home in it.

Alright, he would probably need a minute to find a clean shirt. Had he been doing laundry? Maybe two minutes. Should he brush his teeth? Three minutes. Maybe they still had some alcohol in the kitchen, something strong at best, alright that would be four minutes, it wouldn’t be conspicuous, would it?

 

Courfeyrac saw the shadows of two feet through the slit under the door.

Screw it.

 

He passed the few meters through the room before he could change his mind and practically ripped open the door with enough force that he almost overbalanced.

Combeferre looked like had just stepped out of some cheesy, unrealistic, _perfect_ romance novel, a hand had stopped halfway running through his already rumbled hair, his eyes looked tired behind his glasses as if he hadn’t slept but there was a glint in them that made them look much lighter than usual. He wore his elegant black coat over a simple white shirt and something that were definitely plaid pyjama pants, and sloppily laced shoes.

Courfeyrac stared.

Combeferre stared back for what felt like a little eternity.

 

“Hi,” Courfeyrac said intelligently and could have hit himself a moment later because Combeferre seemed to snap out of his frozen state and averted his eyes. He ran his hand through the rest of his hair and then a crooked almost dazed smile appeared on his face that made Courfeyrac glad that he was still holing onto the door handle because his knees stared to feel suspiciously wobbly.

“I wanted – I need to talk to you,” Combeferre said again seriously.

“It’s 4 am, Ferre.”

_Not that I mind that you’re here, I never mind to see you, stop it idiot, you’re ridiculous._

The other man frowned thoughtfully. “Yes, it is. I realized that. Are you going to let me in?”

“Mh? Oh yes, sure, come in.”

Alright, he definitely had to stop acting like a lovesick teenager.

Combeferre was his best friend next to Enjolras and additionally as good as in a relationship with another one of his friends, he really had to get a grip on his feelings.  
Courfeyrac flopped down onto the sofa reducing the risk of accidental swooning.

“So,” he prompted trying to sound casually, ”What is of so great importance that you’ve come over to tell me in the middle of the night? Did you really drive through the town in your pyjamas?”

Combeferre looked down on himself. “I guess so,” he admitted as if he had only realized this now. The smile returned to his face and made Courfeyrac’s heart skip a beat. Or three.

Then he realized that there was only one thing that he could be about to say.

“We promised no more secrets,” Combeferre said softly.  
Courfeyrac promptly felt sick.

Combeferre was going to tell him that he was in love with Jehan, he had realized it too, he had woken up in the middle of the night, probably already told Enjolras, then immediately came to talk to Courfeyrac because he didn’t want to keep it a secret, he wanted to tell everyone, and his best friends first.

  
His best _friends._

 

Combeferre sat down next to Courfeyrac and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to reach out and touch his arm but then he folded his hands in his lap.  
Courfeyrac was almost glad he did.

Combeferre’s leg was shaking slightly, he stared at his hands and the nervousness made Courfeyrac bit down onto his bottom lip so much it hurt.

“Courf ,” he started but didn’t look at him.

Courfeyrac couldn’t look anywhere else.

“I’m going to tell you something because I can’t keep it a secret anymore.”

Anymore? _Anymore?_ That meant he have had this feelings for a longer time already.

_Don’t. Please don’t tell me you’re in love with someone else, please._

 

Courfeyrac forced himself to smile encouragingly but failed miserable. All he could do was not to jump up and run away.

Combeferre swallowed and he looked so vulnerable that all he wanted was too just hold him, hold him and make that look full of doubt go away. He didn’t do it. But he wanted to, he wanted to do it so badly.

“I know that by saying this everything will change. It’s not wise, it’s not reasonable. But I am too far gone and I have to tell you even though I may wish it unsaid the next moment. I-”

“Don’t.”

Combeferre looked up.

Courfeyrac couldn’t watch how the puzzled expression on his friends face turned into hurt. If he had looked he probably wouldn’t have been able to continue. Combeferre didn’t stop him. “Don’t say it, just think what it’ll do, just… please, don’t.”

The pause was shorter than it felt. Courfeyrac stared anywhere but Combeferre, at the ceiling, at his hands, back at the ceiling, he wasn’t sure as if he was still breathing or if time stood still.

It didn’t.

“Thank you,” Combeferre said in a tone deep of mortification that Courfeyrac flinched.

Without saying another syllable Combeferre stood up and left without turning around.

The second the door fell shut Courfeyrac was on his feet following him.

Shit, what was he thinking? Hurting his best friend, because he was scared and selfish, he didn’t have the right to be selfish now – cost him what it would, he would listen, he had to be the friend the man he loved deserved and for a second he prayed for confidence then he ripped open the door once more.

  
“Ferre, stop!”

 

Combeferre who had almost reached the bottom of the first staircase turned around and the open pain in his face made Courfeyrac’s own vanish into nothing from one second to another.

He stumbled down the stairs.

Combeferre didn’t move when he slung his arms around the taller man’s neck and pulled him close.  
“I’m sorry, oh god, I’m sorry.”

When Combeferre eventually relaxed and his arms found their way around Courfeyrac’s waist, he wasn’t sure if he was actually holding Combeferre or if Combeferre was holding him up, he couldn’t care less.  
“I’m sorry,” he choked out again, Combeferre’s face was buried in the crook of his neck, his hair smelled like honey.

Courfeyrac didn’t know how long they stood on the stairs of an empty halway in the middle of the night and tried to calm their breathing but in the end he dragged himself away from Combeferre and tried to smile as best as he could while ignoring the sting in his eyes and blinked the tears away.

“I’m sorry I stopped you and that I hurt you, I’m sorry.”

Combeferre stared at him with the same open and vulnerable expression and Courfeyrac could see that his eyes were slightly wet as well. He almost gave in the urge to pull him close again but this wasn’t about him.

“If you want to speak openly to me as a friend or want my opinion on anything– as a friend – I will hear whatever you have to say and I will tell you exactly what I think – as a friend.”

“As a friend,” Combeferre repeated with and undertone Courfeyrac couldn’t place. Maybe it came closest to bitterness.

“A _friend_ indeed.” He took a step back, the last step down the stairs, turned away, turned back around immediately, ran a hand through his hair.  
Courfeyrac stayed silent no matter how hard it was, waiting even though every second stretched endlessly.

Combeferre appeared to be trying to convince himself to say something; he bit down onto his bottom lip, rolled it between his teeth with an almost frantic look on his face. Courfeyrac waited until he seemed to have come to a decision and turned to Courfeyrac whose knees got weak again under the intensity of the look in Combeferre’s eyes.

“I will speak truly. I accept you offer to answer me, honestly as a friend – will I ever get the chance to be more than that for you?” He stopped in his earnestness to look at Courfeyrac and the expression of his eyes overpowered him.

“If you say no, if you say the word I will accept it here and now and I will never speak of it again, just say it.”

 

Courfeyrac didn’t find himself able to say anything at all.

 

His mind was racing and without saying something he still understood everything, the whole extent of Combeferre’s words, the groundlessness of his own fears that had been a mistake, a delusion, a misunderstanding.

“You’re not saying anything,” Combeferre said quietly, “You’re not saying anything.” And the wave of relief that hit Courfeyrac, the sheer heart-felt happiness, made his throat go dry and his knees weak and while one hand hold onto the railing for dear life, he raised the other, ignoring the trembling, and reached out to touch Combeferre’s cheek softly.

Combeferre looked up again and his expression brightened by frightful hope. He hesitantly took a step forward and Courfeyrac met him halfway, crossing the distances until only a few inches were left between them. He gently traced Combeferre’s cheekbone with his thumb, still in a loss for words and just wanting to keep the moment forever.

Combeferre closed his eyes. “I can’t make speeches, Courfeyrac,” he whispered into the air between them, opened his eyes again, warm and brown and earnest. “If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am, you hear nothing but the truth from me.”

A moment passed where Courfeyrac simply allowed himself to look into Combeferre’s eyes before he stood up on his tiptoes and crossed the rest of the space between them, pressing their lips together in a tentative kiss.

He had kissed people before, many, but in this moment Courfeyrac couldn’t remember anyone because no one else mattered, nothing mattered only the definite feeling of Combeferre’s soft, pliant lips on his, knowing that this changed everything.

He was terrified.

But he didn’t care because he wasn’t alone, alone in this deep, huge, _new_ something and when Combeferre made the smallest sound, a sigh or a moan and a quiver of lips, Courfeyrac felt all the remaining reasonable objections vanishing.

He dropped the hand from Combeferre’s cheek to clench it in the fabric of his shirt and pull him in, the other flying to his thick, soft hair and Combeferre wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac’s waist to hold him even closer.

They broke apart when air became a necessity and the sound of their mingling breath was loud in the empty hallway distracting Courfeyrac from forming any coherent thought.

“I…” he started after he had caught his breath somewhat, “I thought you were in love with Jehan.”

Combeferre blinked. Once. Twice.

Then a crooked smile spread over his face, a teasing, carefree smirk and he really shouldn’t find it _that_ attractive that he almost didn’t process what Combeferre was saying.  
“And I thought we’ve already established the fact that I am not in love with Jehan months ago.”

Courfeyrac averted his eyes and really, _now_ he was blushing?

Combeferre gently lifted his chin up with two fingers until Courfeyrac had to look at him again. He smiled and kissed him once, just as gently. “I don’t know what made you think that, but it doesn’t matter because I am in love with _you._ ”

“Good,” he managed to get out, “that’s good.”

Combeferre hummed affirming against his lips and they kissed again but before he could lose himself again in the sensation of Combeferre’s lips and hands and touch, Courfeyrac pulled away, reluctantly, just a little bit.  

“Just so you know, I am absolutely, _ridiculously_ in love with you too.”

Combeferre smiled and Courfeyrac would have looked at his smile forever but he couldn’t really stand the idea of more talking and no kissing in the moment so he pressed their lips together again and Combeferre didn’t seem to object.

 

***


	28. Chapter 28: Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nighttime conversations part II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not uploading sooner, I had a lot of stress because of school during the last week but now holidays started. Finally.  
> So here's the chapter, I hope you enjoy it!

***

 

“What are you doing here?”

Grantaire was almost relieved that Enjolras eventually said something firstly because he had absolutely no idea how to start spelling out all the thoughts that were driving him crazy. But he realized soon that it wasn’t necessarily easier after a question because he still didn’t know what to do only now he was practically forced to reply somehow.

His mind was stuck somewhere in between a hysterical _“Your batshit crazy brother-something threatened me with a butterfly knife”_ and a slightly more hysterical and much more pathetic _“Your batshit crazy brother-something told me you love me. Do you still love me?Please still love me.”_

Both not very good openings.

After some more seconds staring back at Enjolras all Grantaire managed to get out was a simple, far too loud, “Talk!”

 

Damnit.

 

At least that effectually shut up his thoughts enough to take a deep breath and say again, this time more clam and with more dignity as well, “I am here to talk to you.”

That was better. Not much better but certainly an improvement.

 

Enjolras frowned. The shock on his face turned into confusion but he didn’t seem angry. “You literally saw me about three hours ago.”

“Yes,” Grantaire agreed hesitantly, “That’s true and I see now how this is really weird.”  
Obviously his commonsense hadn’t considered that turning up at someone’s doorstep in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly a good idea.

Or he just hadn’t considered his common sense what was more convenient.

To Grantaire’s surprise Enjolras smiled, just a little, and even though he still looked slightly disconcerted it was quite reassuring. “Well, now that you’re here already you can as well try to explain.”

He stepped back to lead Grantaire inside the flat and into the kitchen where he was surprised to see a mug on the table and two pushed back chairs.

Enjolras headed straight to the table to reach for the mug, then he paused it halfway to his lips, seemed to contemplate for a second and eventually put it back down.

When he turned back to Grantaire he looked much more composed already.

 

“I would apologize for waking you up but you seem to…,” Grantaire started gesturing awkwardly at the table. 

“Oh yes, I was talking to Ferre, there was… a bit of a crisis.”

They both silenced and okay, this had been a bad idea, a really bad idea.

“Uhm, yes, he seemed pretty upset.”

Grantaire hadn’t actually paid attention to Combeferre but he had been practically storming out of the apartment in his pyjamas so that was nothing exactly normal as well. And saying something was definitely better than saying absolutely nothing.

Enjolras nodded. “He’s off to fix it.”

“In the middle of the night?”

That didn’t seem like Combeferre. Not that Grantaire really knew the other man well but he always seemed very considerate. Running around fixing problems didn’t really sounded like him but alright, this night was crazy already, so why not.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you being a little bit hypocritically there?”

Grantaire smiled weakly. The slightly teasing tone was something he could handle better than awkward silence. He breathed in and out once and just had to spit it out.

Two simple things, it couldn’t be that hard.

  1. Montparnasse told me you love me and I don’t know if I can believe him.
  2. I don’t care if it’s the truth but you deserve to know that I think I’m in love with you too.



 

There, two things, simple.

 

He was about to start, just out with it, no over thinking anymore, but before he could say anything Enjolras got ahead of him.

“I am sorry, I’m being impolite. Can I get you anything to drink or something else?”

“What?” Grantaire said totally thrown off the track, “No, uhm, thank you. I just really…I wanted to tall you that… I met Montparnasse.”

When the words left his mouth he realized that this definitely hadn’t been the prefect way to phrase it.

  
Enjolras froze. “You what?”

 

“I met Montparnasse but it’s not like I expected to meet him or plan to ever see him again, really, it was a total surprise. He waited for me outside of the Musain. I didn’t know he was going to be there, I certainly didn’t –”

“Did he hurt you?” Enjolras interrupted him mid-sentence. Anger lit up his eyes but it wasn’t directed at Grantaire. “I swear to god if he did anything to hurt you…” He let the end of the sentence hanging unfinished in the air.

Grantaire stared at him. He hadn’t expected that.

“No, no he didn’t,” he tried to sound reassuring because Enjolras looked like he was actually about to murder someone. It was terrifying.

And really attractive.

 

Not the point!

  
“He didn’t do anything like that. I mean technically he threatened me with a knife but he meant well!”

“He threatened you with a knife?” Enjolras repeated incredulously, “but he _meant well?_ ”

Alright, he really had to think before talking. He wasn’t sure if Enjolras was too surprised or too angry to say more - a mixture of both, probably more angry - but Grantaire jumped onto the opportunity as long as he had the chance to.

And the courage.

“He didn’t hurt me and you need to know that I still believe what you told me months ago, I believe that what he said to me about you when we first met isn’t true, or just a distorted reversion of what he thinks is true or whatever. The point is that I believe you. I believe you and I don’t trust him and I literally came here immediately because I need to know if what he said is true or if it’s not.”  
Enjolras stared at him with narrowed blue eyes that made Grantaire swallow hard but he couldn’t look away either. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Grantaire started carefully, “I think that it wouldn’t make sense that he made me listen to something from which he knew I’d immediately assume is a lie. Only if it was true and he needed me to hear it.”

“That is logic in a certain extent.” Enjolras didn’t have to add ‘If we weren’t talking about Montparnasse’; Grantaire knew that this was exactly what he was thinking.

He took step forward. Enjolras didn’t step back.

“The last time I thought I’d be sure of something he said, I was wrong. I won’t make a mistake like that again where I end up hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“You’re not the one to blame; I thought we discussed that already.”

“We did –“

“Then we are good,” Enjolras insisted sternly. “What's past is past, it’s alright and we’re over it.”

“Are we?”

Enjolras opened his mouth to answer but ended up saying nothing.

Grantaire bit down onto his bottom lip, the words had slipped out before he could stop them. Now that they were out, he realized he had come to close to backing out again.

He was here to make things clear. He wasn’t going to hurt Enjolras anymore, no matter how the other man was feeling. If there was the slightest possibility he did, he couldn’t be sure that Montparnasse had told him the truth, but the possibility that he was hurting Enjolras again was enough to make him gather up the courage to continue speaking.

“ _I_ am not over it. And I can’t just let this be because we’re going to be around each other a lot since fate threw the same awesome people in both of our lives and I _want_ to make this work somehow, anyhow. But I don’t want to start with assumptions based on what Montparnasse told me this time. I came here because I want to start again but this time with nothing but honesty.”

“Honesty,” Enjolras repeated with something that looked almost like a smile.

Grantaire nodded.

Enjolras didn’t drop his gaze for a second. In the light of the kitchen lamp his long lashes casted shadows over his cheeks. “What did Parnasse say?”

 

Grantaire’s throat felt dry. “He told me that you still love me.”

 

Enjolras nodded earnestly as if he had been expecting that.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. He didn’t take a deep breath or ran a hand through his hair or seemed to be looking for an excuse or a way to back out.

Instead he simply but determinedly said, “It’s true.”

 

Grantaire felt like he wasn’t able to move. Or breathe.

He was quite sure his heart had stopped.

  
“You are not cruel,” Enjolras continued in the same sure and set tone of voice, “so if your feelings are still what they were in April, tell me at once. Mine are unchanged but one word from you and–“

 

The moment Grantaire’s mind caught up with Enjolras’ words he crossed the distance between them and grabbed Enjolras by the front of his shirt, pressing their mouth together in a bruising kiss.

Enjolras let out a startled gasp but before Grantaire could pull back Enjolras’ hands came up to his back and dragged him closer that it knocked the air out of Grantaire’s lungs and the whole world was reduced to the feeling of Enjolras’ lips moving against his, their bodies pressed together and Enjolras’ hair between his fingers.

When they broke apart to breathe Grantaire opened his eyes to find Enjolras looking back at him, so close that he could have counted the smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth because he felt like he had to say something, anything, but the thoughts in his head were drowned by the sounds of their heavy breathing and the blood rushing in his ears and when Enjolras’ gaze flickered down to his lips for the briefest second, Grantaire couldn’t care less about words so he simply kissed him again because he could, because Enjolras let him, because Enjolras kissed him _back_ and bit on his lower lip in a way that made Grantaire let out a surprised sound between a gasp and a moan.

One of Enjolras’ hands moved up to his neck and held him close. He turned slightly, Grantaire almost stumbled over his own feet, then Enjolras backed him up against the kitchen table, breaking the kiss to trace the line of Grantaire’s jaw with his lips, tasting the skin. Grantaire let his head fall back when Enjolras reached the point right under his ear, his heart beating so fast that it felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. The tabletop was digging into his back and before he overbalanced he tried to hold get a grip of the surface behind him even though it meant letting go of Enjolras but instead of gripping the table his hand knocked against the totally forgotten mug and something wet pouring over his fingers followed by a shattering sound made them stop dead in their movements.

 

Enjolras leaned back enough to look at Grantaire, look at the floor where the mug was now lying in pieces, to Grantaire’s hand, back to Grantaire.

His expression was a mix of confusion and surprise and generally very close to that of a deer caught in the headlights.

And then a smile spread over his red lips that made his face light up like the sun and they started laughing at the same time, Enjolras leaning in to rest his forehead against Grantaire’s, still laughing, trembling, his hands resting on Grantaire’s waist and in this moment he couldn’t remember ever feeling more light-hearted, the tension and fear and uncertainty vanishing in the sound of Enjolras’ laugh.

“Sorry,” Grantaire attempted but couldn’t help grinning. He tried to shake his hand dry when he realized the strange smell. “Oh my god, is that whiskey?”

Enjolras nodded and failed miserably at keeping a straight face. “Obviously Ferre thinks it’s therapeutic to stare at alcohol in the middle of the night without drinking any.”

Grantaire stared at him and Enjolras laughed once more at his startled expression.

“I’ll better get something to clean this up.”  
But before Enjolras eventually stepped back, he leaned forward again to press a quick but

firm kiss against Grantaire’s lips that left him smiling at himself like a fool.

He couldn’t care less.

 

They still had a lot to talk about to be able to start over completely but now the cards were put on the table and Grantaire finally allowed himself to feel hopeful and if he could have been able to think of Montparnasse right then, he might even had felt something like gratitude.

 

***

 

 


	29. Epilogue: Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Jehan gets the point and summer begins in London.

*** Café Musain, 4 days later ***

 

 

Courfeyrac didn’t remember when the world had started to light up like that whenever Combeferre smiled. If he thought about it, he would probably come to realize that it had never been any different. He smiled and Courfeyrac smiled back because it felt like the most natural thing to do. Simple, like it was just meant to be this way and always had been.

 

“Bullshit,” Grantaire’s voice cut through Courfeyrac’s rather nonexistent thoughts. It wouldn’t come as such a surprise since all Enjolras and Grantaire ever did was arguing but there had been a more than subtle shift in their relationship and everyone else during the last days and now everyone else had to get used to the even less subtle consequences.  

Grantaire’s tone was almost playfully, teasing and Enjolras raised an eyebrow in response but instead of a frown a smile tugged up the corner of his lips.

“Oh really.”

“Definitely.”

“At least I am doing _something_.”

“Yeah, and you seem quite exhausted actually. Your hair’s all dull today. Maybe you should stop from time to time. Take a break in saving the world."  
  
“You’re just being pessimistic. _You_ should stop.”

“You want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Make me.”

 

Someone who sounded suspiciously like Musichetta cleared their throat soundly. Someone else – most likely Bossuet or Bahorel or both – wolf whistled loudly.

Enjolras’ cheeks changed their colour to a noticeable shade of red when he leaned back to bring a more appropriate distance between his and Grantaire’s face. The other man chuckled what only made Enjolras blush more but he smiled back at Grantaire and they seemed to forget everyone around once more.

“Don’t worry, your hair is as perfect as ever,” Grantaire said and it probably was supposed to sound mockingly but it ended up almost like a purr.

The following spectrum of reactions went from roaring laughter to others rolling their eyes with a smile, Combeferre barely managed to contain a smile and Courfeyrac couldn’t help but grin broadly because he felt so absolutely happy.

 

He was happy for Enjolras and Grantaire who had made a fresh start, leaving everything that happened behind. Also realizing that the lack of communication had been the problem from the beginning Courfeyrac felt like they didn’t ever _stop_ talking except for, well, obviously distracting activities even though they agreed to take things slow, get to know

each other anew but despite that were already bickering like an old married couple.

 

 

He was happy for Marius who was planning on telling Cosette’s father that he wanted to marry her – because Marius was a gawky, old-fashioned gentleman after all. The way Cosette looked at him though, like he was the most precious thing on earth left no doubts for Courfeyrac that everything was going to go perfectly well, a fairytale ‘happy ever after’ both of them deserved.

 

He was happy for Éponine who had gained so much strength and confidence over the past months when she had found a whole new beginning once again only that this time she had realized that she didn’t need anyone else as an anchor but herself.

He was happy for Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta who claimed themselves matchmaker extraordinaire even though in his opinion they still had a lot to learn and he was happy for Feuilly and Bahorel who weren’t any less sickeningly cute than everyone else even though they denied it frequently but it seemed like they weren’t even trying to convince anyone.

  
And Courfeyrac was happy, so indescribably happy, for himself only when he felt Combeferre’s hand brush his under the table where their legs were pressed together.

 

He was happy -  except for one nagging feeling in the back of his mind that made his stomach drop when the door opened once more that evening.  

 

Combeferre leaned closer when Courfeyrac tensed. “You really don’t want to do this together?”

Courfeyrac shook his head and stood up. He hesitated for a second, then he placed a quick kiss at the corner of Combeferre’s mouth. “That’s something I have to do alone, okay?”

Combeferre nodded. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Where else would you go?” Courfeyrac replied teasingly even though he couldn’t help but to feel nervous. He saw that Combeferre didn’t buy his nonchalance; he smiled anyway and gently squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand.

 

It was all reassurance he needed to turn around.

  
“Hey Jehan, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Courfeyrac didn’t wait for the poet’s answer who hadn’t even taken off his bright sunflower yellow coat yet and dragged him out of the door again.

When they were outside Courfeyrac started to fiddle nervously with the sleeves of his shirt, trying to stay calm.

When he met Jehan’s eyes he was taken aback when he saw him smiling broadly. “I hope you want to say thank you,” he said and his eyes twinkling in bright amusement.

The “I am so sorry,” that had been lying on the tip of Courfeyrac’s tongue for the last four days died in his mouth. “ _What?_ ”

Jehan just smirked. “Well, from the way Ferre is desperately trying not to seem too obvious looking at us I was pretty sure you two finally figured out some things. Also you kissed him so you know what? No, I am actually hundred percent sure you figured things out.”

“What? I mean yes but… what?”

The poet grinned triumphantly.  “I’m really happy for you two.”

“But… I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

When Jehan laughed Courfeyrac felt like he had missed something really, really important.

“Honey, you have nothing to feel sorry about, except for maybe taking so long because it was a lot of pain to watch the two of you dance around each other for months, what do I say, _years._ ”

“What?” Courfeyrac repeated and felt a little bit like a broken record. “But I thought you were… You said –“

Suddenly realization dawned on him.

Courfeyrac simply stared at Jehan for some seconds before he burst out, “You _tricked_ me!”

Jehan grinned.

“You… Oh my god! You’re _wicked_! You’re absolutely fucking wicked. You made me believe you were in love with Combeferre so I would realize _I’m_ in love with Combeferre because you knew _he_ was in love with me.” He ran his fingers through his hair ignoring how it was going to look like later, “Oh my god. That’s… That’s so…so _clever._ Damnit.”

“Thank you,” Jehan nodded humbly, “I have to admit, it really was one of my best ideas even though I didn’t _made_ you believe anything. You did that all by yourself. I was at no time talking about me.”  
“But you said that the love of your life could be right in front of you and had been there all along and you just didn’t realize…oh.”

Jehan smiled.

“You really weren’t talking about yourself, right?”

The poet shook his head.

“And when you said that Combeferre would never intentionally give someone the impression of liking them more than he actually does you meant…”  
“Yes.”

“Goddammit, Prouvraire.”

Jehan just continued smiling and what made Courfeyrac laugh. A little bit shakily but nevertheless. “I was an idiot, wasn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” the poet shook his head, “you were confused, you know. You already loved Ferre, very much. It’s not that you love him more now, when you aren’t just best friends anymore. It only means you love him in a different way. And sometimes it’s confusing because one way isn’t worth less than the other. You just needed a little help to figure that out. There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time. It’s not about loving more or loving less. Just right.”

For the first time Courfeyrac found himself able to smile back a him, honestly, completely and relived with nothing else to worry about.

“Thank you.”

Jehan smiled, gently rested his hands on either side of Courfeyrac’s face and kissed him on the forehead. Then his smile stretched into a grin and he ruffled Courfeyrac’s hair before linking their arms.

“You’re welcome, honey. Now let’s get back in because your boyfriend looks like he’s going crazy in there.”  
When Jehan opened the door again and dragged Courfeyrac into the Musain where all of his friends sat together, laughing, joking, smiling, he knew that the warm feeling inside him wasn’t just happiness. It was the feeling of love that he wasn’t able to put in words and didn’t have to because it simply _was._

It was there, all around, in its different forms and different ways that bound them together as they were - in a small Café in the middle of London on an early summer evening, young and free and hopeful.

 

 

***Fin***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the circle is complete.  
> Thank you so much for leaving kudos and comments and generally for reading, what would a writer be without readers? I hope I could give you something to enjoy. ♥  
> I have some more weird AUs in planning - because there are even weirder things than a modern Jane Austen-Mashup-AU as it seems - so you'll probably hear from me again soon. Until then you can also say hi on [tumblr](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/). ♥  
> And hey... thank you.


End file.
